


Fearless

by laloga



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003) - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Drama, F/M, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-02-15 17:27:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 71
Words: 376,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2237406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laloga/pseuds/laloga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is only one Force-sensitive clone in existence. When Captain Stonewall's secret comes out, he is sent to Kamino, and his Jedi general, Kalinda Halcyon, is put on probation by the Council. But she refuses to let the man she loves be held captive on the storm world. Along with the men of Shadow Squad, Kali plans a daring rescue. OC-heavy & AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Hi there! Welcome to the new story. :) The usual gobbledegook (notes, disclaimer, etc.) will follow in Chapter One. For now, know that this prologue takes place shortly before my fic,  _Untouchable_.

Lyrics: ["So Aware," by John Brown's Body, from  _Amplify._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ARzXebBm-uI&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp&index=1)

* * *

**Prologue**

_I'm so aware of your body,_

_It's blinding my sight when you are near._

_So aware of your crying because of a life you can't begin._

_So aware the fighting for dreams we lost, that we left in-between;_

_So aware that I'm starving,_

_So open your heart and let me in._

The call came well after midnight.

While the rest of the ship slept, clone Captain Stonewall was alone at the helm. He didn't mind the solitude, in part because the fact that he normally shared his Jedi general's bed didn't excuse him from the routine duty, and in part because Kalinda had made it clear she wanted to be alone tonight. Stonewall minded  _that_  a little bit, but would not begrudge his Jedi anything if he could help it.

Shadow Squad's vessel, a small freighter that had seen better days, hurtled through the blue veil of hyperspace when the comm began to chirrup. Stonewall glanced at the  _[_ _PRIORITY_ _URGENT]_  marker with trepidation before he activated the comm and watched the flickering blue form appear at the console. "General Kenobi?"

The bearded Jedi gave a slight bow. "Stonewall."

The use of his nickname rather than his rank or number clued Stonewall into the fact that this was no professional call, and anxiety squirmed in his gut. Of the few matters that could pull the Jedi Master and High General from his duties, Stonewall knew that one was ensconced in the officer's cabin at the ship's stern.

Stonewall took a breath and schooled himself to patience. His reply lacked formality, but was heavy with intent. "What's wrong?"

Kenobi hesitated. That alone sent off a myriad of warning bells in Stonewall's mind, and he hoped his instinct was wrong. Maybe Kenobi had only comm'd because of some urgent Jedi business that would require Kali's attention. He indicated the doorway behind him. "Should I get General Halcyon, sir? "

"No, Stonewall." Kenobi sighed and shook his head, then looked directly into the clone captain's eyes. "But what I have to say does concern her." He paused again, as if measuring his words. "Have you noticed anything...unusual about Kalinda's behavior lately?"

It was the captain's turn to hesitate. He did not want to speak ill of her, but... "General Halcyon has been a bit...on edge the last week or so."

He fought back a wince at the recent memories of Kali hurting in a way he didn't understand and could do nothing about, and wondered if he'd revealed too much. But General Kenobi was one of Kali's oldest and dearest friends, and if he had an insight about her behavior, Stonewall found he was a little desperate to hear it.

However, there was only so much of that desperation he could reveal. No one outside of this vessel knew about the bond the captain shared with Kalinda, and Stonewall was reluctant to reveal his and Kali's romantic attachment to a leading member of the Jedi Council, old friend of Kali's or not. So he didn't know what else to say.

Kenobi nodded slowly, a sorrowful look on his face. "I thought as much. She contacted me a few days ago with a message for the Council, and I remembered..." His eyes took on a far-away look that Stonewall often associated with Force-users, but it faded quickly as Kenobi faced the captain again. "I debated sharing what I'm about to, because it is  _her_  business and not either of ours. However, I decided you would be able to better serve her if you had this knowledge."

Anxiety tore at Stonewall's gut again, but he worked to keep his expression neutral. "I would be grateful for any information that will help me assist General Halcyon."

"Good to hear. I'm glad she has you." Kenobi offered a kind but small smile, which faded almost at once. "Has Kali ever mentioned a Jedi by the name of Jonas Ki?"

Stonewall nodded. "He was her first master."

The Jedi studied him a long moment, his forehead creased as if with uncertainty, which led Stonewall to wonder if he'd made a mistake by revealing he knew this much about Kali. But surely there was no harm in this knowledge? Jedi were allowed to discuss their old masters, right? By Kali's account, Knight Ki had been a patient and kind master; what reason would Kenobi have to feel uncertain about relating this information?

"Today is the twentieth anniversary of his death," Kenobi said quietly. "It is always a difficult time for her, but I fear..." He sighed again. "I fear this one will hit her particularly hard. I fear it already has."

"I think you're right, sir," Stonewall replied with a sigh of his own. "She's...not been herself. I only wish I could do something to help her."

Kenobi nodded once. "I've tried, in the past. But some wounds – even old ones – will never heal completely. The best thing you can do is let her grieve in her own way, in her own time. She'll come out of it soon. She always does."

Stonewall nodded, but the words struck him as  _wrong._ Not unkind or unfair, because by all accounts Jedi were not supposed to  _grieve_ at all, but it still felt wrong to let Kali suffer alone. Which was what Kenobi was suggesting, at least as far as he could tell.

But it would do little good to argue with the Jedi, for many reasons, so the captain ensured that his reply was professional. "Thank you for the information, General."

Kenobi signed off. Stonewall leaned forward, resting his elbows on the console and running his hands through his close-cropped hair as he debated his next move. She'd expressly told him she wanted to be alone, and he wanted to honor that request, but this new information...

Kali was grieving. It was clear to him now, and if she was simply his CO and nothing more, he would have left her to her grief. But there was  _more_ between them, so much more. As a soldier, he knew when to leave well enough alone and focus on the mission. But as a man, he could not stand idly by while the woman he loved wept herself to sleep alone in a dark room.

A glance at the instrument panel told him they were ahead of schedule, so he decided to forgo helm duty for the time being. He set the autopilot, then slipped out of the cockpit and made his way through the silent ship's corridors. He paused beside the cabin that held his men, where he knew an empty bunk waited for him, and listened for a moment to ensure all was well; exhales, sighs and a few intermittent snores revealed that it was.

The cabin he normally shared with Kali was tucked within the  _Wayfarer's_  stern. It was small and often cluttered with her belongings, but had the luxury of a bed that was larger than anything Stonewall had ever slept upon in his admittedly short life. He pressed the lock-panel and slipped inside. Kali sat at the center of the bed, hunched over a datapad, her face illuminated by the screen.

Not until he crossed the threshold did she glance up. "What are you doing here?"

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Stonewall hesitated, her sharp tone making him uncertain of how his concern would be met. He saw her rub at her eyes and took in her slumped posture, like she was curling in on herself, and a little more of his resolve fell away. She'd been so adamant before about being alone...maybe Kenobi had been right.

"How are you?" he asked at last.

Through the darkness, he watched her sit up and straighten her shoulders. To an outsider, she would be the picture of a proper Jedi. Her words trembled, though, and betrayed her. "I'm fine."

"No," he stepped closer, "you're not."

Kali's voice cooled. "If I say I'm fine, then I'm fine. I told you I wanted to be alone. What do you want?"

Ignoring the pang he felt at her words, Stonewall sat at the bed's edge and twisted around to regard her. Bathed in the datapad's glow as she was, it was obvious she'd been crying. Red-rimmed eyes looked back at him steadily, but she sniffed once despite herself.

"General Kenobi just comm'd," he said.

The dark-haired woman glanced down at her datapad. "And?"

"He was worried about you."

Now she gave a small shake of her head, which caused her unbound hair to sway. "He does that a lot."

In her grip, the 'pad trembled. Stonewall eased a little closer, shifting so that he was fully seated on the bed, though he did not touch her. She did not tense, nor turn away from him this time, which he took as a good sign. "He told me why he was worried."

She glanced up at him, brows knitted. "He told you...?"

"Your first master," Stonewall said. "It's the twentieth anniversary of his death. Right?"

Kali stared at him a long, long moment, then shook her head. "No, Stonewall."

Well, this was unexpected. Stonewall frowned and tried to put his thoughts in order. He knew he'd not heard her wrong, and he doubted Kenobi had outright lied to him, but then what was the truth of the matter?

But before he could ask, Kali sighed, set the 'pad screen-side down in her lap, and looked at him again. "Jonas wasn't just my Master, Stonewall. He was," she swallowed and looked away, into the shadows of the cabin, "he was my dad."

"Your..." Stonewall gaped at her a moment before recovering his senses. Somewhat. "Kriffing hell."

To his shock, Kali let out a chuckle, though it was low and dark and filled with sorrow. "That about sums it up." She was silent a moment longer, then looked down at the 'pad. Her next words were blurred and shaking. "He died in my arms. I was sixteen. I can't believe it's been two decades; it feels like it only happened yesterday."

There was no room for hesitation now. Stonewall shifted closer and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close to his chest. He only wore his off-duty fatigues, so thankfully he could offer her warm skin, soft fabric and a steadfast shoulder. She resisted him for a heartbeat before relaxing into his embrace as her body started to tremble.

He said nothing as she cried. What was there to say? He had no family to miss, not like this anyway. There were brothers, of course, but losing them – while painful – was commonplace among clones. They were soldiers in wartime, and brothers died all the time. The ones who were left grieved and moved on, while keeping their memories alive in their hearts. It was the way of his world.

But even though he could not directly relate, he understood there was a strong bond between  _parents_ and  _children._ And he knew something of love, too. He knew it was love that held Kali captive in her grief; love lost and shaped into sorrow over the long span of years.

Perhaps, though, it was love that could offer some relief.

He kissed the top of her head and rubbed her arms and trembling back as she buried her face in his chest. "I'm sorry, Kali," he murmured in her ear. "I'm so sorry."

Kali wept. It felt like he held her for hours, though the reality was probably closer to a single hour. But all that mattered was that she quieted at last and looked up at him. Her eyes, nose, and cheeks were pink and blotted with tears, and her hair was mussed beyond all recognition.

"It still hurts," she whispered. "Why hasn't it stopped hurting yet?"

"I don't know." He smoothed back a strand of her hair that had stuck to her damp cheek. "I suppose some wounds never really heal; they just scab over."

Kali sniffed and leaned into him again, wrapping her arms around his torso and embracing him for all she was worth. Stonewall understood that she often thought him solid, even indestructible, and although he knew better, he thought that now she needed something to hold on to more than she needed to be strong on her own.

In all the times they'd been intimate, never had she seemed less of a Jedi than she did now. But never had she been more real.

"Kali?"

Her reply was small in the darkness. "Yes?"

"What was he like?"

She inhaled deeply and met his eyes. Her expression was distant again, but there was a softness to its edges that made Stonewall think she was remembering, and that it was not all in sorrow. "He was..." A slow, half-smile came to her face. "Kind," she said at last. "Compassionate. The perfect Jedi, by all accounts. Except he didn't care for meditating, and he had this one really, really big attachment."

Hoping to encourage her, Stonewall smiled back fully. "He sounds like a good man."

Kali shifted closer, curling her legs up and resting her head on his shoulder as she relaxed into his chest. "It's not very Jedi-like of me, but I miss him every day. There are times when I see something he'd think was interesting, or hear a song he'd love, and I want to tell him...then I remember." There was a frown in her voice. "I don't know if it should be that way. I don't think so."

"I guess you can't exactly ask the Council," Stonewall agreed.

He'd not been joking, but she startled him with a light chuckle. Second one so far; he decided to thank Kenobi later on, even though he'd not exactly followed orders.

Kali was quiet for a moment, then leaned up and pulled away from Stonewall. He lamented her absence briefly, but watched with interest as she tugged up the leg of her sleep pants, revealing an ugly, rounded scar on her left knee.

"I've told you how I got this, right?" she asked.

Stonewall ran his fingertips over the familiar knot of skin, wide and thick as his thumb. On her slender knee, it took up far too much room. "On a mission when..." He took a breath and looked at her with new eyes. "When you were sixteen. When your first master was killed."

Kali nodded. "It was bad. It still is, some days. I should have gotten a prosthetic knee."

The scar, or what it represented, was the reason Kalinda Halcyon was not on the front lines with other Jedi, leading clone battalions while cutting down rows of Seppie clankers. The old injury was a constant source of trouble. If her knee was exerted overmuch it would ache, enough so that she had to rest far more than other Jedi, enough so that Stonewall had spent many hours massaging the area in an attempt to ease what pain he could. She walked with a limp. It was faint, but visible, and it was certainly enough to advertise the fact that she was in less than one-hundred-percent physical condition.

But who gave a kriff about a bum knee, when the woman attached to it was so extraordinary?

He'd never pushed her to reveal the details of her injury. Among clones, those who'd been wounded enough to return to the field bore their scars proudly, for they were badges of survival. However, no clone who was hurt like Kali had been would have been sent back to fight. A wound that left such a deep, abiding scar and persistent limp would have equated to a one-way trip back to Kamino.

Now, though, he thought he had tacit permission to ask, so he held her dark eyes with his own. "Why didn't you get a prosthetic?"

Kali was silent, and he wondered if he'd pushed too far this time. Along with wry humor, compassion, and an easy-going nature, there was a darkness within Kalinda Halcyon. Despite her tendency to recoil from them, the shadows clung to her. He'd seen them in her eyes when she was angry, or frightened, or lost.

He saw them now.

Just as Stonewall was about to change the subject, Kali sighed and rubbed at the scar again. "It's stupid."

"Tell me anyway?"

A beat passed, then she picked up the datapad, activated the screen, and presented it to him without a further word. Stonewall accepted the 'pad and his heart constricted when he saw the image.

Two Jedi stood before a marbled fountain. The first was a man probably in his forties, slightly taller than a clone, slender, with vivid blue eyes and short hair so blonde it was nearly white. A familiar wry smile touched the edges of his lips. He stood proudly, with one arm around the shoulders of the other Jedi, a Padawan judging from the braid hanging next to her chin. Kali. Young...younger than Stonewall had ever seen in any of the old pics she'd shown him. Her face was rounder, more childlike, and her body was not as curved as it was now, but the dark eyes that looked back at the clone captain were purely  _Kali._ Her smile was toothy and she stood straight and tall.

Each wore a lightsaber, but only one hilt was familiar. In the picture, it hung at Jonas Ki's belt, though Stonewall knew now it lay with Kali's belongings, on the floor of her side of the bed they shared.

"I didn't want a prosthetic knee because...even though my real knee was ruined, it was the only thing I had left of my father."

She met Stonewall's gaze, and he caught a glimpse of the girl she used to be behind the eyes of the woman she was, then her gaze dropped and her hands trembled over the scar. "I couldn't give it up because I couldn't let him go. This stupid, busted knee is all I have left of him."

It took Stonewall a moment to find his voice. "The lightsaber..."

"Is a weapon, a tool, a  _possession_." Kali's voice sharpened again, but Stonewall got the sense she wasn't upset with him. "It could be lost or taken away from me. And honestly, I was never that great with it. But this," she slammed her palm on her knee, startling him, "this is mine. This is a part of me. Forever."

Kali swiped at her eyes and sighed again. " _Kriff_ , that's idiotic. I'm a terrible Jedi."

"That's not true."

"Well, you don't know many of us," she said, sitting up a little and regarding him with some of her old wry humor.

Stonewall shook his head. "I know enough. But it doesn't matter, because you're not  _just_  a Jedi, Kali. You're a woman. You're a  _person_ , an amazing one, and I..."

He bit off the next words, because they would be too much right now. This was not a time for something new; this was a time to attend to old wounds. So he touched her jaw, skimming his fingertips over her smooth skin before twining them in the dark tangle of her hair. "I count myself lucky to know you, and even luckier to be here now."

"You don't have the monopoly on luck," she said, lifting a brow at him even as she leaned into his touch.

Stonewall chuckled. "That's debatable."

"Insubordinate." Kali clucked her tongue and gave him a teasing look that made his heart lift. "I should court-martial you."

"Go for it, General," Stonewall replied lightly, arching his brow.

The corners of her mouth curled upward with amusement, but it was not a true smile. He figured she would still wrestle with her sorrow, but he didn't want to leave her alone, not now. Perhaps he could have woken up one of his men and had them fly the  _Wayfarer_ while he stayed here with her, but it was still technically his turn at the helm, and it didn't sit right with Stonewall to use his relationship with Kali – or his place as captain – to take such prerogatives.

He didn't vocalize any of this to the dark-haired Jedi, because she knew. Even without a word, she knew him, understood him in a way no one else ever had. He only hoped he could return the favor one day, even if only a little bit. There was so much he was helpless against, after all.

Rather than dwell on the darkness, he thumbed in the direction of the cockpit. "It's lonely up there. If you're not going to sleep any time soon, I could use some company."

Kali considered, then nodded. Some of the blotchiness had faded from her face, though it was still obvious she'd been crying. Her knee still rested between them, and Stonewall placed his hand over the scar. He met her eyes, silently wishing he could say something that would make everything right, but the words didn't come.

Then she gave him a true smile, and there was no better sight.

"Come on," she said, getting to her feet and offering him her hand. "We've got a long journey ahead of us."

Stonewall rose as well, and laced their fingers together. "Let's go."

* * *

A/N: Look for a new chapter every other Friday. Please "follow" me or the fic to receive future updates, and please leave a review if you are so inclined. :) Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter One

Lyrics: ["Budapest," by George Ezra, on](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VHrLPs3_1Fs&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp&index=2) [ _Did You Hear the Rain?_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VHrLPs3_1Fs&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp&index=2)

* * *

**FEARLESS**

* * *

**Chapter One**

_My friends and family,_

_They don't understand._

_They fear they'd lose so much,_

_If you took my hand._

_But for you, I'd lose it all._

_Approximately one year later..._

Kalinda took a deep breath, gathering what calm she could. Force above and beyond, she was going to need it, especially since she still felt a little queasy. The doors to the Council chambers hissed open and allowed her entry. Her boots made no sound on the marbled floor; the only indication of her passage was the Kali-shaped shadow cast by the fading light of day and the movement of every Council members' eyes upon her as she approached. Mace Windu's gaze, in particular, was stern, and his mouth was set in a firm line. Not unusual for him, but it didn't bode well. Its severity signaled that something was not right.

But of course that was true. There was only one empty chair, where Obi-Wan was supposed to be, but Kali did not let her eyes linger upon it, because if she did, she'd lose what control she'd managed to shore up. Instead she stood at the center of the room and faced Master Windu, and took another deep breath. Calm.

"What is the nature of your relationship with the the clone known as CC-3077?" Mace asked without so much as a  _how's it going?_

Heat flooded her face but she forced back the accompanying emotion. She'd had an idea this was coming since Alderaan. It would be unpleasant and probably extremely embarrassing, but she'd tried to prepare herself.

"You mean Captain Stonewall?" she asked.

The Korunn Jedi's face betrayed no emotion as he nodded once. Beside him, Master Yoda's flickering, holographic form regarded her just as calmly. "Formed a romantic relationship with the clone, we believe you have. Is it true, Knight Halcyon?"

"Yes," she said, lifting her chin.

Though nearly the entire Council was present, no one spoke or stirred. Only about a fourth of the Council members were physically on-planet; the rest appeared via holo. There was a war on, after all. Even so, the air suddenly felt thick and heavy, coating her lungs and tightening in her chest.  _Calm_ , she reminded herself. _Stay calm, and you will get through this._

"You know such attachments are forbidden," Ki-Adi-Mundi said from his place to her right.

Kali glanced his way. "Attachments are forbidden, but I was unaware we were expected to be celibate."

It was a blow, albeit an inadvertent one, and she regretted her words at once. Master Mundi's species had a low birth rate, so he had been permitted to take several wives. The Cerean Master's pale, elongated brow furrowed at her reply, and Kali schooled herself to dial her emotion back even further.

Before he could reply, though, Luminara Unduli shifted in her chair, causing the others to look her way. "Your thoughts betray you...and the captain. Do not attempt to deceive us with semantics."

"You care for him," Master Plo Koon added. "You cannot conceal the truth from us, Knight Halcyon. We know that you have formed an attachment to CC-3077."

"You have always struggled with that weakness." Master Windu's voice rolled through her heart like thunder, and it began to beat faster.

Her throat was tight and her eyes pricked with heat.  _Not now,_ she pleaded with herself.  _Keep it together, for both their sakes._ That thought chased the emotion away; there was more than herself and Stonewall, now. So much more.

She shook her head and met Mace's eyes. "Perhaps you're right. But it's my weakness, not his." She indicated the direction of the Coruscant Guard barracks, tucked into the cityscape and bathed in the glow of the almost-setting sun. "Captain Stonewall is innocent of any wrongdoing. He could not," her cheeks heated again but she pushed on, "refuse an order by his general."

Luminara lifted her chin, and if Kali didn't know any better, she would have sworn the Mirialan Jedi's eyes had hardened. "Are you telling us you  _ordered_  CC-3077 to...be intimate with you?"

"I'm not  _that_  desperate," Kali shot back before she could stop the words. She paused and took a moment to collect herself, and continued. "As Master Windu pointed out, I have a...predilection for attachments. Obi-Wan and I were very close, as many of you know. Last month, after he was killed by Rako Hardeen, I was...upset, and sought companionship. Stonewall is a young man, and was eager to please his general."

She made an indeterminate motion with her hand, to let them fill in the blanks. "The point is that it was  _my_ idea, and any attachment in this situation is purely my fault, and my problem. Captain Stonewall has done nothing wrong. In his mind, he has served the Republic faithfully."

There. Humiliating, to be sure, but she was past caring. All that mattered was saving Stone's  _shebs._ Her own, she'd worry about later.

Mace Windu exhaled through his nose, long and slow, and leaned back in his seat, looking at her the way he used to when she was not an errant Knight, but his Padawan who had disappointed him in one way or another. It was not uncommon for him, but something struck her as  _off,_ now. She glanced around again at the nearly full Council chamber and realized this meeting was more than a simple dressing-down.

As a rule, it did not take an entire Council to reprimand a Jedi. The body only assembled to offer harsher disciplines.

Her throat tightened.

"A 'predilection,' you say, hmm?" Everyone looked over at the flickering form of Yoda, seated in his customary egg-shaped chair beside Mace. But he only watched Kali. "Semantics, again, Knight Halcyon. Warned, you were, about such things. Only truth should you bring before us."

Kali's hands tightened into fists at her sides, and it took every ounce of control she could muster to relax them. Heat stung her eyes again, anger and shame coursed through her. It was truth they wanted, yet they would have her live a lie. They would have her deny the things written in her heart and soul. Her head buzzed with restrained emotion but if she spoke her true mind, she would lose everything.

"I have many weaknesses," she managed at last. "But Stonewall–"

"Is one more," Mace broke in, lacing his fingertips together. "I see now that I made an error in judgment in allowing you to participate in the Wars. You are more suited to Temple life."

Yoda and Mace exchanged glances, some sort of silent communication passing between them. When Mace looked her way again, his gaze was durasteel. "Kalinda Halcyon, you are officially on probation. Three more causes for reprimand will result in your expulsion from the Jedi Order. You are to return to your former Temple duties, effective immediately."

"No."

Mace frowned. "Excuse me?"

Kali clenched her hands and didn't care that she was shaking. They could not do this. She would not  _let_ them do this. Her gut churned but her voice was steady. "With respect, Masters, I think Shadow Squad and I have made great strides in our efforts during in the Wars. Despite my 'weaknesses,' we've done a lot of good. And there are less Jedi every day..."

She shouldn't have looked at Obi-Wan's empty chair. One shot. All the heroic things he'd done, all the messes and scrapes and last-ditch efforts, all the warmth, wry humor and fierce intelligence...a kriffing sniper had destroyed his bright spirit with  _one_  shot, and some days it was more than she could bear. She shouldn't have looked. But she did. And traitor tears sprang to her eyes when she most needed to keep them away.

"Even now, your emotions betray you," Luminara said, echoing Kali's thoughts. "Master Windu is correct; you are not suited for the Wars. You can make yourself more useful here at the Temple."

This wasn't happening. Kali tried to breathe deeply and regain her calm, but it slipped through her hands like so many grains of sand. "What will happen to my men?"

She said this with a glance at Plo Koon; of all the Jedi Masters in the room, she had heard he was closest with his clones, the fierce fighters known as the Wolfpack. Perhaps he would understand...

But the Kel Dor Jedi said nothing.

Mace's voice pulled her gaze as if her head was tied to a string. "They will be disseminated back to their original teams. Shadow Squad was," his frown deepened, "a failed experiment, on my part." He leveled his gaze on her again. "In any case, Shadow Squad is no longer your concern, Knight Halcyon."

"I urge you to reconsider." Kali paused, then took a step toward her old Master, trying and failing to keep the pleading out of her voice. She had one final, desperate card to play, though she had a feeling they would not buy her bluff. "I will end my...affair with Stonewall if you let me keep working with them."

Mace shook his head. "Our decision is final."

"Please," she whispered. "Mace, please. Don't do this to them. They deserve better."

"You should have considered that earlier," he told her sharply. The change in pitch was minute, but amounted to a klaxon of warning to those present, and Kali felt the force of his ire like a slap. A beat passed; he took a breath and leaned back in his chair, all emotion faded from his face once more. "This discussion is over. You are dismissed."

* * *

_Meanwhile..._

Traxis threw down the cards and grinned across the table at his captain. "I win."

"Again?" Stonewall sighed and made a show of frowning at the sabacc cards spread before him. "Kriff. I'm getting cleaned out."

Shadow Squad's ordnance man, a bald clone named Crest, gave Traxis an exaggerated look of wariness. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were cheating."

"Nope," the scarred clone drawled as he collected his winnings – a pile of sweets that Shadow Squad had collected over the last few weeks. "I'm just that kriffing good."

The youngest member of the squad, Milo, began to gather the cards. "None of us are cheaters, Crest. That's just mean."

Crest sat on Traxis' left side, at the small table in the rec room at Coruscant barracks. At Milo's words he chuckled and glanced at his scarred brother. "Hmm. I don't know...turn out your pockets, Trax _,_ and let me check."

Like all the members of his squad, Trax was dressed only the black body-suit normally worn beneath armor, and there were no pockets. So he shot the bald clone a mock glare and began to sweep the packets of honey sticks into his rucksack. "Eff off, Baldy."

Shadow's medic, Weave, sighed as he entered info into his datapad. He'd opted out of the last game, but had chosen to sit with his brothers anyway. "Trax, he's just teasing. Don't let him get to you."

"That goes for each of you," Stonewall added, looking between Crest and Traxis, both of whom feigned innocence. At their looks, the captain rolled his eyes, a habit he'd picked up from their Jedi general. " _Di'kutle_."

Despite the insult, there was affection in his voice. Only Stonewall could call Traxis an idiot and make it seem like an act of camaraderie. And in a way, it was.

"Ah,  _vode,_ right?" Crest chuckled, nudging the officer's side with his elbow. "Brothers can be so annoying, and  _we're_  downright incorrigible."

"You're a fekking pain in my  _shebs_ ," Traxis shot back reflexively, though his heart wasn't really in it. He was still full from lunch, and pleased that he'd won the sabacc round. A little R & R almost made up for the fact that they'd had to make an unscheduled trip to the Core this morning.

Milo shuffled the cards, but didn't deal them. "She's been in that meeting a long time," he said, glancing at the captain, who tensed. "D'you think everything's okay?"

The levity that had surrounded them evaporated, and no one spoke. Milo, maybe sensing his misstep, winced and looked down at the cards. "I'm sure it is. Okay, I mean. I'm just bored and saying silly things. You know how us shinies get," he added hopefully.

This was said to Stonewall, who nodded slowly, but twisted around in his seat to glance out the barrack's small window. The others followed suit. Kalinda Halcyon, their Jedi and general, had been recalled to the Temple suddenly, which, in Trax's limited experience in Jedi affairs, did not bode well for her. He didn't blame the captain for his distress.

Every member of the squad knew that Stonewall and their Jedi were romantically linked. And while Trax might have found the arrangement displeasing in his younger days, now it was such a steady facet of his life, he couldn't well imagine things any other way. The captain and general made a team to be reckoned with on their own, and the addition of the rest of the squad only improved matters. Besides, Stonewall was ass-over- _kama_  in love with the dark-haired woman, and she with him. In his more reflective moments, Trax liked the idea that a clone could find that kind of happiness. Though he wished...well, a lot of things, the sight of them together gave him hope for the future, or whatever sort of future a cloned soldier could have.

But one thing niggled at Traxis. Weave made another idle comment meant to distract, and Crest answered, but Traxis cast a wary glance at Stonewall, considering the events he'd witnessed on the planet Balasi. His captain met his gaze, and Traxis didn't have to be a Force-sensitive clone trooper to read the agitation in Stonewall's posture.

Of the entire squad, only Traxis knew their captain had the Force – somehow. The specifics were still something of a mystery to their Jedi general, and Trax had seen the evidence about two weeks ago on Balasi. In all likelihood, Stonewall was the reason Shadow Squad had been recalled to the capital world. And he knew it.

Trax frowned. But if that were the case...why wasn't Stonewall in the meeting with Kalinda?  _Fek,_ you'd think a Force-sensitive clone trooper would be enough of a novelty to warrant a trip to the Council chambers. As far as Trax knew, no other clone was like Stonewall. No other clone could access the Force.

Stonewall blinked once, and looked down, worry practically radiating from him for a moment before he glanced at Milo. "It's not that late, yet. Why don't you deal another round, Mi?"

The shiny obliged, and Traxis watched his captain try to pull himself together and make jokes with his men. No, there was no one else quite like him.

Across the small room, the door hissed open and a group of clones spilled inside, their armor splashed with the bright crimson insignia of the Coruscant Guard. Traxis' stomach flipped and his hand fell on the blaster pistol he wore at his hip without knowing why. Stonewall turned around and, seeing the dozen clones enter the room, got to his feet. Trax and the rest of Shadow Squad followed their captain's lead.

An officer, clearly marked by the  _kama_ at his waist, approached Stonewall. Too slowly. A warning siren began to blare in the back of Trax's mind.

"Can we help you?" Stonewall said as the officer paused before him.

The unnamed clone officer glanced at Traxis. "Put that away, or we'll do it for you."

Traxis scowled, but lifted his hand from his blaster. Mollified, the officer looked between the other clones, the blank T-visor of his helmet skimming over each of them in turn. "All of you, put your hands where I can see them, and don't fardling move unless I give the order."

Stonewall's shoulders straightened. "What's going on?"

"CC-3077?"

Stonewall frowned but nodded. Immediately, four clones broke from the ranks and lunged for him, grabbing his shoulders and arms, rendering him immobile. They forced him to his knees while a fifth trotted over and began searching him, running a hand-held scanner across his form, even though the body-glove didn't leave much to the imagination.

Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was that sense of self-preservation that ran so strongly in Jango Fett's DNA. Maybe it was desperation. But Stonewall acted, and it was in a way Traxis had only seen once before.

The captain stilled and ducked his head, and the air pressure in the room seemed to thicken as with an approaching storm. Something buzzed in Trax's ears and it was hard to breathe... Then Stonewall sprang to his feet, just as the five clones surrounding him were propelled backward as if shoved by an invisible hand. They tumbled over themselves and each other, knocking the Corrie Guard officer to the floor in the process.

"Fekking hell," the officer shouted as he clambered to his feet. "Stun him!"

"Captain!" Milo called, but the Corrie Guards had already regrouped.

Those who'd not been knocked away had rushed in to support their brothers, and Stonewall was lost in a sea of white and crimson armor. Trax and the others were slammed against the nearest wall with orders not to resist ringing in their ears. Heart hammering like some  _shabla_ machine, Trax snatched his shoulders out of the grip of the clone who held him so he could turn and see what they were doing to Stonewall.

A buzzing whine echoed in the room as the stun bolt hit his captain, and Trax watched in disbelief as Stonewall crumpled to the gleaming barracks floor. The fight was over. They'd lost.

Trax had lost before, many times. But never quite like this.

"Let him go," he heard himself snarl. "What in the Nine Hells is the matter with you? Karking  _shabuir chakaare!_ "

If the Corrie Guards understood the Mando'a curses, they didn't show it. They ignored Trax and picked up his captain's limp form. They ignored Crest's cries of indignation and Milo's pleas, and Weave's demands for a warrant, and they took Stonewall from the room in a dead-man's carry.

The remaining members of Shadow Squad were forcibly turned and made to face the unnamed officer, who rested his hands on his hips. "Orders just came in. Your captain is under arrest and you are to remain here until further notice." He paused and swiveled his helmet between the four unarmored, unarmed clones. "I was going to allow you to stay in the barracks, but after  _that_ little display, I think a holding cell is more appropriate."

"Orders?" Weave asked, his voice medic-calm. "Whose orders?"

Traxis gnashed his teeth, unconcerned with Officer Kark-head's answer. All that mattered was getting his captain back. But even so, he caught the words  _Jedi_ and  _Council,_ and ice ran through his veins. Did Kalinda know? His vision went white and hazy as rage took over. It didn't matter. Kalinda wasn't here.  _He_  was. He could do something. He would.

Traxis glared at the Corrie Guard officer and wished to whatever fekking gods lived on this world that he could kill with a look.

Officer Kark-head raised his blaster at Trax. "Steady, trooper. One wrong move, and I'll have you carted off to Kamino with your captain. Understand?"

Without waiting for a response, the officer turned away, touching the side of his bucket in a way that meant he was speaking through his comm. His men continued to hold Shadow Squad, and for a few seconds the only things Trax was aware of were his own labored breathing and the shudder of blood through his veins. Adrenaline had kicked in, but had nowhere to go. He jerked against the grip of the man holding him, but didn't have enough leverage to break free, and the Corrie Guard held him firmly in place. Traxis felt his lips pull back in a sneer as he jerked again, but he could not move.

He fekking hated being helpless.

"Kamino?" Milo was beside him, breathing hard, voice soft.

Trax glanced over at his younger brother and noted the confusion in his eyes. "You heard Officer Kark-head, shiny."

Milo frowned. "But why would they send the captain to Kamino?"

No one else knew, and Trax had given his word he'd keep the secret. It shouldn't have mattered any more, but even now, he could not break a promise to Stonewall. "Does it karking matter? Kamino's a kriffing death sentence, and he's got no one to watch his six."

The shiny's eyes widened and his head ducked. Beyond him, Trax saw Weave and Crest listening to the exchange, but neither had a chance to speak.

"Oy, shut it, all of you," the Guard holding Trax said, adding a jerk on his arm to get his point across.

" _Fekking_  make us," Traxis growled. The Corrie Guard responded with a jab of his armored elbow into Trax's jaw; the resulting blow made his vision spotty, and he tasted copper where he'd bit his tongue. A red haze of pain washed over his consciousness, disorienting him and making him sag against the other clone's grip as he blinked at the barracks floor.

So he didn't quite know exactly how what happened, happened.

There was a scuffling noise, a creak of armor, and a hiss of pain. Someone shouted Milo's name; Traxis looked up just in time to see Shadow Squad's youngest member, who'd somehow broken free of his captor, lunge for Officer Kark-head.

The whole of it only took a few seconds. The officer turned toward the commotion and was met with Milo's right uppercut, the blow landing at just the right angle to knock Officer Kark-head's helmet off and send it clattering to the floor, where Stonewall had lain minutes ago. Traxis saw the officer's face: smooth, unblemished, a slightly aged mirror of Milo's.

Then Milo decked him again. Hard.

_Good work, Mi. There's hope for you, yet._

Officer Kark-head swore, and Traxis grinned despite his own frustration and his efforts to pull himself out of the Guard's grip. The other Guards swarmed around Milo, grabbing him and shoving him roughly to the ground, while Weave and Crest protested, but Trax knew Milo had put himself beyond his squad-mates' help. The officer stood over Mi, jerking the shiny's face up and forcing Milo to meet his gaze.

"Are you kriffing defective?" As he spoke, a trail of crimson escaped his nose and spattered on the clean, white patches of his kit. "What the  _fek_ is the matter with you?"

Milo's eyes flickered to Traxis, but it was a brief look, and Traxis' stomach twisted at the kid's next words."That color looks good on you, sir."

Maybe it was a good thing clones couldn't kill with a look, after all. Officer Kark-head glared at Milo, then turned to his men. "Get them all the hell out of here." He straightened and indicated the rest of Shadow. "Throw those three in a cell, and ship this," he nudged Milo's ribs with the toe of his boot, "milking sod on the first transport to Kamino."

"No!" A wave of helpless fury pulsed through Trax. Not Milo, too.

Crest and Weave, too, protested, but their words fell on deaf ears. Milo looked at the floor, but Traxis could not read his expression. That had never happened before. Four Corrie Guards wrestled Milo to his feet and shoved him out the door. He was gone. Both of them were gone.

Anger warred with fear and Traxis shuddered at the force of it. It was wrong. It was all wrong.

_It should be me._

Traxis tensed his legs and tried to stand, but another clone hurried over and helped the first push him down. Two sets of hands, coupled with his position, meant he could not find his footing, and he could do  _nothing. Nothing._ White rage filled his vision, and he settled into the feeling, using it to bolster his movements.

"Kriffing let us go!" Trax shouted, trying and failing to jerk free of his captor.

"You can't do this," Crest added, his words cracking. Traxis spared a millisecond to glance at his bald brother and see that Crest was also struggling against his captor.

Only Weave remained moderately steady, his gaze fixed on the T-visor of the officer's bucket. "Tell us why this is happening."

"For  _fek's_  sake," Officer Kark-head muttered. He motioned to a few of his men. "Stun these three. I don't have time for this."

Traxis looked up, into the muzzle of a standard DC-17, and the blue ring of a stun bolt met his gaze. It bit cleanly through his body-glove and burrowed within his chest, and he sank to the gleaming barracks floor, heavy with regret.

 _I'm sorry, Stonewall,_ he thought as his world went black.

* * *

Milo relaxed into the Corrie Guards' grip. His stupid plan had worked; his captain would have someone to watch his six. He sighed with relief and let himself be dragged across the rec-room.

As he went, he glanced up and into the eyes of his  _vode,_ and a wave of chagrin moved through him. He wished he could make them understand, but it was too late now. He'd made his choice, and silently thanked Traxis for giving him the idea. Trax always reminded him what was really important.

Crest, too, had taught him some measure of irreverence, which he thought had served him well. And Weave, who always knew the right thing to say, and when to say it. Milo's boots slipped on the lip at the door's threshold, and the Guards who held him pulled him along with enough force to wrench his arm from his socket.

"Come on, crazy barve," one of them muttered.

Milo was silent, trying to get one last look at his  _vode._ They were good soldiers and better men, and were obviously a heck of a lot smarter than he was. He was going to miss them. He watched them watching him, until he was taken from the room and into the shadows of the corridors beyond. Shadow Squad had become another part of his past.

* * *

A/N: This fic takes place about eight months after the events of  _Untouchable,_ and about five months after the events of  _Better;_ if you are familiar with my other stories,  _Fearless_  will supersede the  _Eye Of the Storm_  trilogy. While I don't think it's necessary to have read my other stories to understand this one, having done so will enhance your experience. I'll try to note where any references to previous fics occur.

Like most of my stuff, this story is OC-riddled, angsty, and romantic. It's also unapologetically AU. I initially tried to keep it within canon, but canon has thumbed its nose at me one too many times, so you know what? Screw canon. I'll make my own. :)

All song lyrics are reprinted without permission. Disney, not me, owns Star Wars, and if you think I'm making money from writing/posting this, PM me, as I have a Star Destroyer to sell you.

Conversely, all original content is mine. This includes, but is not limited to: characters, races and planets. If you'd like to borrow any of my original content, please read the note on my profile.

Comments, musings, questions, random thoughts...all are welcome with open arms. Complaints will be considered, but probably ignored. Flames will be mocked.

Deep, abiding gratitude to the immensely talented  _ **impoeia**_ , whose beta-skills I often and shamelessly call upon. If you have not read her stories, do yourself a favor and let yourself be swept away by her marvelous OCs. :D

Please read and enjoy!

A note on the music:

Each chapter has a "song" that corresponds, which is listed at the outset. Some songs are a backdrop for the events of the chapter, or tie in with the strongest emotional notes, or fit a particular character at a particular moment.

All together, they make a pretty sweet playlist for this fic, the link to which can be found on my author page. It's not complete yet, but I'll be adding songs as we go.


	3. Chapter Two

Lyrics: ["Counting Stars," by OneRepublic, the Moseqar remix. ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dx_O6JJHD1U&index=3&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp)

* * *

**Chapter Two**

_Lately, I've been losing sleep,_

_Dreaming about the things that we could be._

_And lately, I've been praying hard,_

_Said no more counting dollars,_

_We'll be counting stars._

_Approximately one month ago..._

What the planet Coraux lacked in moons it made up in rings. Wide bands in varying shades of pearly gray crossed the horizon at an angle, casting a glow upon the rippling ocean beneath. The taste and smell of salt was pervasive as the balmy sea breeze, though the air was already beginning to cool with the promise of a deep, dark night. Tucked in the Expansion Region, Coraux was considered the jewel of its star system, and was home to vast resources, which, of course, the Republic needed in these trying times. Enter Shadow Squad.

Kalinda watched runnels of foamy water lap the shoreline, leaving faint, lacy patterns as the waves receded. She dug her toes into the damp sand and leaned back on her palms, breathing in the scents of salt and sea. The night sky was peppered with innumerable stars, though the glow of the rings made it difficult to distinguish individual constellations.

No one else was in view, even within earshot or reach with the Force. After the successful negotiations, they would be shipping out tomorrow morning, so she'd given the guys the night off to enjoy what they could in the capital city of Numen.

She exhaled and sat upright, crossing her legs and leaning forward so that she could pick up the bottle tucked in the sand beside her hip. One sip; she winced at the bite of Toydarian whiskey, but savored the burn that trickled down her throat and into her belly. Even for a Jedi, the liquor was strong, and already she felt a pleasant tingle in her limbs. She capped the bottle and set it down, then leaned back on her hands to savor the faint tilt of the entire world and the increasing numbness within her mind.

Obi-Wan would most certainly not have approved.

"The mission is over, Ben," she said aloud to the empty beach. "No one cares what I do anymore."

Her voice did not choke on her nickname for her oldest and dearest friend, but it should have. She should have been crying, weeping her kriffing eyes out, but her face was dry and her heart beat steadily on behind her ribs. Waves rushed to shore, stars wheeled far above, the rings circled the whole world around her. Everything was the same.

Except Obi-Wan Kenobi was dead.

"There you are."

Her captain's voice broke over her like a wave, and she closed her eyes. She hadn't sensed him, most likely due to a combination of her intoxication and his burgeoning Force-abilities. In addition to being handy with a lightsaber, it seemed he was excellent at being stealthy.

Eyes still closed, she exhaled again. "I'm not here, Stonewall. I'm only a figment of your imagination."

"Doubtful," he said in an amused voice. "I'm not  _that_  creative."

A few grains of sand dusted her legs as he settled down beside her. As it always was, his clone body was warmer than most Humans', and she found herself leaning a little closer to him despite the balmy air. He did not hesitate to wrap his arm around her shoulders, allowing his warmth to settle over her like a cloak. Kali inhaled his familiar scent and opened her eyes. Tonight he wore only his off-duty fatigues, with no weapons to speak of, though she knew he was not without his own kind of defenses.

At last she met his gaze. "Didn't feel like carousing with the rest of the guys?"

Light brown eyes regarded her steadily. No, she thought. Not light brown. Other clones had light brown eyes. To her, Stonewall's eyes were the color of a jar of honey held up to the sunlight.

"Didn't much feel like carousing," he said.

"It's a nice night for it."

He rubbed her shoulder with his hand. "I still can't believe–"

"Don't," she warned him. "Don't say it."

"Kali–"

She sat up, causing his arm to fall down her back. Inchoate tears stung her eyes. "Don't say it. If you say it, it will be true."

Stonewall glanced at the bottle of Toydarian whiskey. "It's true whether you acknowledge it or not."

"No."

She pulled her knees to her chest and hugged them close. He said nothing for a moment, but she felt him reaching out to her through the Force; tentative tendrils of energy curling toward her own Force-presence as he tried to comfort her on an unspoken level, where she'd deliberately walled her emotions away. Kali wanted to recoil into her own grief, but Stonewall's Force-presence was quiet, calm. Loving. He sought her out because she was hurting and he wanted to help. He gave every part of himself to her without reservation, and she knew he always would.

There were times when her captain was more a Jedi than she'd ever been.

Kali took a deep breath and unfolded her body as she allowed him entry into her mind. Waves of love washed over her, mimicking those that brushed against the shoreline, and something inside of her gave way. She leaned into his side again and allowed him to wrap her in both arms.

"He's gone," she murmured, blinking into the soft cotton of Stone's shirt. "I can't believe he's gone."

Stonewall's reply was dark. "A kriffing bounty hunter. I'd never have thought–" He bit off the words and sighed, rubbing Kali's back again. "Obi-Wan was a good Jedi, and a better man. I'm lucky I got to know him a little bit. I owe that to you."

"We won't be able to go to the funeral," Kali said after a beat. "Mace wants us to try and head off that trouble on Balasi as soon as we're done here."

"Maybe he could make an exception?"

Kali chuckled, but the sound held no humor. "He's never made an exception for me before. I doubt he'll change his ways now."

She caught sight of Stonewall's frown, but he did not comment further, only rubbed her shoulders again as they watched the waves. A breeze blew, slightly less pleasant than before, and Kali's skin prickled against the cooling air. She wore only a thin tunic and leggings pulled up to her calves, having abandoned her traditional robes in her and Stonewall's shared quarters in the ambassador's guest villa.

"Cold?"

"A little," she whispered.

In response, his arm curled around her tightly, drawing her closer and knocking the bottle of whiskey over in the process. Stone was so warm, so solid. Kali leaned against him and buried her nose in the crook of his shoulder, inhaling the scent of sea salt and soap, and  _Stonewall._ She was not alone.

But he was a soldier, a clone created for one clear purpose. He was a man with an expiration date and a short shelf life.

And she didn't know what she would do when he was gone, too.

Kali sighed into him, then reached for the bottle. She took a quick, deep drink before handing it to her captain, who accepted. He studied the label a moment, then craned his head to look down at her. "Toydarian? You don't mess around, do you?"

"Mmm."

Another gentle prod of the Force against her consciousness. "Are you drunk? I can never tell."

Kali held up her thumb and forefinger, spacing them about a centimeter apart. "Ish."

"Drunk-ish." He chuckled, then tipped a measure of liquor down his own throat. "May as well join you."

"There's not much else to do right now."

He indicated the surf and the gently lapping waves. "We could go for a swim."

"Tried it. That water is fragging  _freezing_ ," Kali said, wriggling her bare toes. She sat up suddenly, arching her back and batting her lashes with exaggerated coyness. "We could still get naked."

He gave her a slow, deliberate smile. "Right here? Sand like this gets  _everywhere_."

"Well, we have a perfectly nice bed in the villa." Kali plucked the bottle from his hand and took another long drink, gazing at the sea. Her thoughts buzzed and it was difficult to find a purchase for her eyes on the undulating ocean, so she looked back at her steadfast companion.

"Stone?"

"Yeah?"

Her heart thrummed a little too fast as she looked into his honey-brown eyes that contrasted with the backdrop of rings and stars and inky sky. "Will you do something for me?"

"Anything. Name it." He sat up, the motion sloppy, and she giggled. He was such a kriffing lightweight.

Kali took a breath to regain what seriousness she could. Oddly, it helped to think of how Obi-Wan would handle a situation like this, though she knew he'd never  _quite_ had to ask this sort of thing. At least, she thoughtso. No telling what shenanigans he and Cody had gotten up to when they were alone.  _That_ thought made her giggle again, though her amusement was immediately followed by chagrin, because Obi-Wan was gone and she could never tease him again. She could never see his frown of disapproval at her lewd jokes, right before a smile broke through and he made one of his own, clever enough to put her in her place while making her blush from head to toe.

" _Kali'ka_?" Stonewall's baritone, coupled with his Mando'a nickname for her, drew her back to the present, and she felt the warm press of his hand on her arm. "What do you want me to do?"

She blinked at her captain, at his serious face that held a shadow of stubble from his last shave this morning. His eyes were warm, like the rest of him. She wondered if their child would have his eyes, or her own dark ones. She hoped his.

"I want something from you," she said slowly.

He tilted his head in confusion. "Right. What?"

"A child."

Stonewall's body stilled. Even the rise and fall of his chest ceased, as if he were dead. But his eyes were wide and fixed on her, and slowly, so slowly, his mouth fell open as pure shock radiated from him, streaks of lightning that illuminated his Force-presence.

In an effort to revive him, Kali rapped her knuckles lightly against his forehead. "Hello? Anyone home?"

He shook his head once and looked down, blinking rapidly as if trying to clear his eyes. Finally he looked up at her again. Confusion ebbed from him, and no small amount of surprise, but she also sensed something else: happiness and delight strong enough to make her eyes water.

"A child?" he whispered, eyes still wide. "Are you serious?"

She nodded.

He exhaled and looked at the bottle, then back at her. "Why?"

"Why not?"

Stonewall gestured to the sky and sea. "A million reasons. Pick one."

"You're going to die one day," she told him. "And I can't..." Her throat tightened and heat pricked at her eyes.  _Ben would definitely not approve._ "I can't be without you, too. I want to have a family with you, but I also...need something of you to keep with me after you're gone." Now her cheeks grew wet, heated by emotion and cooled by the wind. "Please don't leave me alone."

"Kali..." His own voice was hoarse.

"I know." She swiped at her eyes and looked away from him. "It's all so stupid."

"You're drunk," he replied, adding a resigned, wry, "ish."

She shook her head, strong enough to cause some of her hair to come unbound from the single braid that fell over her shoulder. "Maybe so, but I still want this."

Stonewall ran a hand over his face, and she felt his emotions playing wick-ball within his heart.  _No; it would be foolish and selfish, and would bring nothing but regret. Yes; I want this too, more than anything._

At last he looked back at her, and she saw with a pang that his own eyes were bright and wet. "How can you ask this of me? You know what I want, Kali. You  _know_  I want this."

"Then–"

"No." Her heart beat faster still, but she said nothing as she waited for him to speak his mind. "More than anything in this galaxy, I want to build a life with you. A family, a home." His jaw tightened and his hands balled into fists. "But I refuse to leave you with such a burden, especially knowing I won't be around to help carry it. I'm  _not_  that kind of man."

"I know, you're better than that," she whispered. "But I'm not."

He faced the ocean. "The Council will expel you from the Order," he said after a beat.

"Only if they find out."

"Won't they?"

Now, oddly, she found she was able to smile. "My father managed it. At least I come by such deceptions honestly."

Stonewall took a deep, shuddering breath, and flexed his hands again. "We're fighting a war."

Kali bounced her scarred, left knee in the sand. "We're not exactly on the front lines."

"But our lives are still dangerous," he said, sitting up and twisting to her, eyes alight as he settled on the argument. "This has been a quiet mission, but there are plenty of missions that aren't so...easy."

"I can take care of myself," Kali told him. "I  _am_ a Jedi, remember? Even though I don't act like one a lot of the time." Besides, what she lacked in battle-prowess, she made up for with other, unique Force-abilities. "And," she ventured, "I have you and the guys to watch my six."

"The guys..." He shook his head, a half-smile coming to his face, though it faded quickly. "They wouldn't know what to do with a youngling. Any more than I would."

"From what I understand, it's a learning process."

Stonewall nodded, but his gaze was distant, thoughtful. Hope blossomed in her chest, but she held it in check and drew little spirals in the sand beneath her bent knees.

Finally he exhaled again. "We can't raise a child on the  _Wayfarer_ , Kali. You know that."

"True..." Kali considered, then shrugged. "I guess we'll have to find a home somewhere."

He made a noise of disbelief. "It's not that easy! It can't be."

"But what if it is?" She folded her legs beneath her and faced him, taking his left hand in both of hers and meeting his eyes. "Stonewall...I love you."

He frowned. "I love you, too."

"We love each other and we want to share our lives – or at least whatever we'll have together." On a whim, she grabbed a handful of sand and shook it out over the beach, the grains falling through her palms; some were scattered by the breeze, others fell back to the sand. "But we don't have much time. We  _know_  we don't have much time. There are no guarantees that either of us will be here tomorrow."

"Kali–"

"We are given no promises," she told him, breaking through his potential words. "Only choices. And I want to make this one, stupid though it may be. No one ever asked me if I wanted to be a Jedi and although I love it, I still want to choose the life I get to live. I want to choose you." She held his eyes with her own. "What do you want, Stonewall?"

His lips parted. His eyes were wide and fixed on hers, and she could feel his pulse racing beneath the sheltering layer of his skin. Through the Force, she touched his bright spirit and found it pulsing, rippling with agitation and fears, all of which she shared. There was so much that could go wrong, after all. There were so many reasons why this was a bad idea.

But love, love overlaid all other things, sparkling through his essence to settle over his doubts. Love resonated between them, and she knew it would be enough to keep them whole. Through the Force, Kali watched, marveling, as Stonewall found a certainty that matched her own. At last, at long last, he nodded once, and wrapped his right hand around hers.

"I choose you," he told her. "Always."

Her heart swelled within her chest, pushing away the final wisps of her own fear, and she leaned into him once more, pressing her body to his and circling his broad shoulders with her arms. He returned the embrace without hesitation, wrapping his arms around her back and twining his hands in her hair. Now that his mind was made up, he would be steadfast in his decision and never look back.

"I love you so much," he murmured into her ear. The deep resonance of his voice sent shivers through her whole self.

"I know," she replied, blinking back tears. "Sweet Force, do I know."

* * *

_Later..._

Stonewall held her in his arms, and looked into her eyes as he released himself into her body. Her lips parted, her skin flushed, and her grip on his shoulders tightened as he filled her, and her own cries assured him she'd also found her release. Though the Force, he touched his mind to hers, and she to his, and they shared this part of themselves, too.

Once he could think clearly again, he made to slip out of her, but she held him in place with her calves pressed to his back. "Don't leave," she whispered, her breath still short. "Come closer. "

Panting, he settled down on his elbows and studied her. It was odd to remain inside of her after his release, but not unwelcome. "How does this work, exactly?"

"I don't know. I've never  _tried_ to get pregnant before. Usually it's the other way around. I think," her gaze turned distant and unfocused, "we just...concentrate."

"On what?"

Kali gave a light, hazy laugh. "What do you think?"

"This wasn't exactly covered in the flash-training back on Kamino."

She gave him a wry look heavily laced with affection, then reached down to where their bodies were still joined. She pressed her hand to the flat of her belly, below her navel, and met his eyes again. Between them, the Force rippled, and he felt her emotions as keenly as his own.

"You and me, and the new life we can create," she whispered. "Focus on that."

Stonewall nodded and ducked his head, closing his eyes as he often did when he tried to access the Force. Once it had been odd to do so; now it was second nature to reach into himself, to the well of energy that thrilled through his blood like starlight. He inhaled and caught the scents of sweat, sex, balmy ocean air. He exhaled and pushed them all out of his consciousness and concentrated on her body, and his, and what could be.

He wasn't sure how much time passed, nor if what he was doing had any effect. He could feel  _her_ and  _himself,_ but no more. He was not a Jedi, after all, only a new Force-sensitive, and not even that much.

Something soft brushed against his hand. He opened his eyes and saw Kali's unasked question, so he shifted his body-weight to his left arm and gave her his right hand. She pulled it down and placed it on her abdomen, and rested her hand upon it. She looked into his eyes and this time he did not look away.

 _Inhale_. He gathered up his love for her, his hopes and wishes for the shape their lives could take. He savored the luster of her dark eyes and the curve of her mouth as she smiled. Would their child look like her, or him? He hoped her; the galaxy was full of his face, but only one of hers.

 _Exhale_. He released everything into her. He felt his energy blend with hers, weaving in a bright pattern that surrounded and filled them both. He lost himself to the marvel of it, until he felt her gentle nudge in the Force. Her eyes had closed and her lips were parted as her focus sharpened, and he watched her, awestruck, as she directed their energy to where they wanted it to be.

Stonewall did not know what to expect. What he felt was a spark, so tiny, almost nothing at all. Had he not been so aware of Kali, he would have missed that first moment, that new beginning. But there it was. Her dark eyes opened and she smiled up at him.

His heart began to race again. "Did it work?"

Kali pressed her hand to his, above the place where their child would grow. Her smile was as wide as his, and just as awe-filled. "Yes."

* * *

_Present day..._

"Captain?"

His arms ached...no, make that his whole kriffing body. His throat was as dry as Tatooine, and his mouth might've been filled with sand. A persistent throbbing pulsed through his head, and each breath hurt. Something hummed beneath his cheek.  _Fek,_ he was sore and tired, and he didn't know what the kriff was going on.

"Captain?"

Stonewall groaned. Where the  _shab_  was he? He struggled to find purchase in his memories. Guard barracks...a lost sabacc game. One of many. His pulse kicked up its pace. Corrie Guards, arresting him. A stun bolt to the chest, sans armor.

Well, that would explain why he felt like five kinds of  _haran._

A nudge at the top of his head. "Wake up, Captain."

It was a brother's voice, one he'd know anywhere, and it was enough to pull him out of his stunned haze. Stonewall took a deep breath and gathered what strength he could, then forced open his eyes. The first thing he saw was Milo's upper thigh, right beside his nose; craning his neck up, he found himself looking into a familiar face.

"Mi?" he croaked.

"Yep." Milo looked about as relieved as he sounded, though his hands were bound behind his back. "Can you sit up, sir?"

Stonewall shifted his arms and realized his wrists were also bound. He swallowed, and something pinched around his neck. His first thought was that it was the collar of his body-glove, but it felt wrong...thicker, heavier, and metallic.  _What the fek?_

"Here," Milo said suddenly, twisting his back to Stonewall. "Use me for leverage."

Pain and disorientation made it difficult to move, but after a few moments Stonewall was able to maneuver to an upright position. Glancing around, he realized he and Mi were alone on a dim transport of some kind; there were faint running lights along the floor and the emergency evac hatch glowed red at the far end. The familiar vibration of the bulkhead made him think they were in hyperspace.

Stonewall glanced at his  _vod._ "Where are we going?"

"Kamino."

 _So my secret's out, I guess._ Perhaps he should have been more upset, but he felt oddly calm. Probably because reality hadn't quite sunk in. Stonewall nodded slowly, the movement causing the metallic collar around his neck to chafe. Thankfully, other than a bruise at his temple, Milo looked to be in one piece.

"What are  _you_  doing on a transport to Kamino?" Stonewall asked.

The younger clone grimaced. "Uh...I got lucky, I think."

"Lucky?"

Milo flushed but he sat up and gave Stonewall a determined look. "They were taking you away, and you needed someone to watch your six. Trax started it, but I..." He ducked his head. "I finished it. I punched the officer and they sent me with you. They didn't give me a weird collar-thing, though."

"You punched...?" Stonewall didn't know whether to laugh or cry, or possibly court-martial his younger brother. All he was able to do was lean his head back against the transport's wall, which was a bad idea because even the light tap hurt.

"I know," Milo said, shifting closer to Stonewall and glancing warily at the dark interior of the transport. "Dumb grunt.  _Shabla di'kut_  shiny, that's me."

Guilt swam through Stonewall. If he'd been open with his men, if he'd told them the truth, maybe Milo wouldn't have risked his own  _shebs_ and followed his captain on what was probably their last flight.

Stonewall sighed and nudged Mi's shoulder with his. "You're not dumb or a  _di'kut_ , Mi, and to be honest, I'm glad you came along, even though I really wish you hadn't. You should have stayed with the others..."

He trailed off, heart seizing.  _Trax, Weave, Crest..._

_Kali. Our child._

It took every effort to keep his voice steady; he told himself that he didn't want to worry Mi too much by giving into the panic that was starting to tighten his guts. "What happened to them?"

"Dunno." Milo shivered and pressed his back into the bulkhead. "I think the Corrie Guard officer said something about putting them in cells." He paused, then shot Stonewall a reassuring look. "I'm sure the general will find them. And us," he added as an afterthought. "We didn't do anything wrong. Maybe this is all a misunderstanding?"

The tone of his voice gave him away. It was too bright and fell flat against the bulkhead. Even Milo was not  _that_ shiny. But Stonewall recognized the need for such deceptions now, so he nodded slowly. "Yeah, maybe so."

"We've only been in hyperspace for about fifteen minutes," Milo said. "Maybe a little more. It's been about an hour since we were in the barracks." There was a frown in his voice. "Feels like longer."

Stonewall nodded, but had turned his attention to other things. Ignoring the protesting aches of his body, he sat up as straight as he could. He shut his eyes and inhaled, exhaled, focusing entirely on the familiar breathing pattern until he felt himself relax just a bit. Hopefully it would be enough. He inhaled and gathered his strength. He exhaled and reached through the Force, for her.

Filaments of awareness stretched for Coruscant, where his heart was. Could they cross the vast emptiness between stars? Stonewall shut away everything else, even Milo, and concentrated on the bright presence of the woman he loved. He reached for her, pulling himself along on the threads that connected them in the Force.  _Kali?_

At first there was no reply, and he was truly lost.

Then, faint, so faint, barely a spark, he felt her reply.  _Stonewall! Where are you? You feel...far away._

He slumped against the wall, for the moment too overwhelmed with relief to reply. But time was not a luxury he'd ever had, so he took a breath and tried to say what he needed.  _I'm with Milo. We're on a transport for Kamino._

_Milo?_

The clone in question shifted a bit closer, as if seeking comfort, and Stonewall felt a flare of protection for the younger man.  _He...wanted to have my six. We think the others are still at the Corrie Guard barracks._ He took a deep breath, throat tightening as he thought of all they'd lost.  _They know, Kali. They have to know. Why else would the Council do this?_

Her reply was immediate, and laced with an anger that took him aback.  _No one on the Council knows about your abilities, Stone. Only Obi-Wan._

And dead men tell no tales. Stonewall shook his head. What other reason would there be for him to have been carted off to Kamino? And if the Council didn't know, then who did?

But he didn't think he could go into all of that now; already their connection was tentative. He didn't want to risk losing it.  _Please don't come for me,_ he told her, forcing both his thoughts and his seriousness through the connection of their bond.  _Don't risk your life, or our child's._

_You know I can't leave you–_

_We knew this could happen. We knew it could end badly. You have too much to lose now to risk it all for me._

_You're right,_ she replied, her emotions rippling with agitation.  _We have too much to lose. So I'm not going to let us._

Despite himself, he smiled.  _Plucky determination will only get you so far._

 _Yes, well I'm hopeless that way._ Her thoughts warmed and swelled with love.  _I'll find you, Stonewall. Wherever you go, whatever happens, I will find you._

Fek, he wanted to believe her. But it was hard to put stock in hope when his hands were bound and he and his brother were on their way to the storm-world from where they'd come. So he only nodded once.  _I love you, Kali'ka._

She said something else, but their connection was dimming and he missed it. Anxious, he sat up and tried to close the distance, like a child stretching his arm out to reach something on the highest shelf...

The collar around his neck beeped, emitting a red flash in the dim cabin. An accompanying jolt of pain followed, streaking through Stonewall's body and cutting off his concentration. The tentative connection snapped, and he gasped at the loss.

"Sir?" Milo's voice was worried. "Stonewall? Are you okay?"

The collar had only emitted a small pulse of electricity, but the pain was enough to make him dizzy. Stonewall sucked in a breath and forced his eyes to focus on his  _vod_ watching him, wide eyes flickering between his face and the collar. "Yeah..."

Milo nudged his shoulder. The brief contact was a welcome change from the pain, but did not erase the memory. "I thought you went to sleep."

Stonewall shook his head, then nudged his chin along the collar's edge to get a better sense of the thing. Metallic, with some sort of vinyl padding on the interior, which made him think it was meant to be worn for prolonged periods. Obviously, it was meant to restrict his Force-abilities, though he wondered why it had not worked immediately. Maybe because he wasn't that strong with the Force to begin with?

In any case, he was in no state to risk another shock; his body still buzzed with pain from the device and the remnants of the stun bolt. As much as he hated to admit it, he would not be able to attempt to contact Kali again, at least not for a little while.

"Sir?"

 _Come on,_ he told himself,  _keep it together. You're a captain, for fek's sake. Kriffing act like one._ He sat up and glanced around; they were alone in the transport. Did it matter if it was bugged? Probably not. The fact that he wore a Force-suppressing collar meant that his secret was out, so there was really nothing left to lose.

He looked at Milo. "I'm alright,  _vod._ But we need to talk; there's some intel you should probably know."

Milo sat up as well, eyes alert, and Stonewall took a deep breath. "So, as it happens, not only Jedi can use the Force..."

* * *

A/N: The planet Coraux is my creation. It first appeared in my fic,  _Sacrifice_ , many moons ago. If you're curious, the word sort of rhymes with "arrow," though the accent is on the first part of the word. COR-aux.

As you probably gathered from the "baby making" scene, this fic is rated "M" with good reason, though that's about as sexually explicit as it gets. ;)

In other news, we have a  **lot**  of story to get through, so I'm bumping the update schedule to one chapter per week, rather than every two weeks. If that changes, I'll let you know.

Next time: back to the rest of Shadow Squad.


	4. Chapter Three

Lyrics:[ "Miniature Disasters," by KT Tunstall, from  _Acoustic Extravaganza._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sD7FmaEHBUM&index=4&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp)

* * *

**Chapter Three**

_Miniature disasters and minor catastrophes,_

_Bring me to my knees._

_Well, I must be my own master,_

_Or a miniature disaster_

_Will be the death of me._

_On Coruscant..._

Fully-clothed in her traditional Jedi robes, Kalinda sat upon the closed toilet lid and tried not to cry.

She was not entirely successful.

When Stone had contacted her, she'd been, of all places, one of the public 'freshers in the main Temple atrium. Morning sickness was a joke; there were days she was queasy from the moment she opened her eyes to the middle of the night, though she thought her nausea today had more to do with current events rather than the early stages of her pregnancy. Though their connection had been tentative, it was still a shock when it'd been cut off so abruptly, and she could not reach him any longer.

Deep breaths. Focus on the  _here_ and  _now,_ the only things she could control. She could not help Stonewall and Milo by sitting in the 'fresher and sobbing her eyes out, no matter how much she wanted to. Another breath, and this time when she swiped the tears away with the sleeve of her robe, more did not immediately follow. Small victories.

First things first. Shadow Squad was on-planet and needed help. She pushed away all thoughts of her own situation to focus on theirs. The 'fresher was empty, but she didn't feel comfortable making a comm-call here, so she adjusted her robes and slipped out the door and into the wide mezzanine of the Temple. Beams of light filtered in through the high windows, their angle indicating the sun was setting. Only a few Jedi, mostly younglings and their minders, meandered through the carpeted walkways. It took every ounce of control Kali possessed to keep her emotions from resonating through the Force and drawing unwanted attention.

After leaving the Council chambers, she'd originally thought to go to her quarters to collect herself, but her rooms were many levels away from here and her priorities had shifted after her brief contact with Stonewall. Besides, almost every possession that mattered was on the  _Wayfarer_ , in the GAR hangar near the Coruscant Guard barracks.

The thought made her eyes heat again. Would the guys get to keep the instruments she'd given them in their new units?  _Stop it,_ she told herself furiously, clenching her jaw as she strode through the Temple corridors.  _Calm the kriff down and focus on one thing at a time._

When she turned a corner and saw that she was alone, she paused in an alcove, withdrew her comlink and called Weave. The only reply was a pattern of beeps that indicated he was not available. She tried again; sometimes he grew lost in his thoughts and didn't notice his comm right away. Sometimes...

Nothing. She tried Crest's comlink, and Traxis', but neither man answered, so she took a deep, steadying breath and began to hurry down the corridor, towards the turbolift that would deposit her on the level that housed the nearest docking complex. The Guard barracks were not far, but she'd need a speeder to reach them quickly. What she hoped to accomplish when she reached it was another matter. If the Council  _had_  sent Stonewall away and arrested the rest of her team, then it was likely she was on her way to a jailbreak of some kind. But that didn't feel right; Mace was harsh, but he was forthright. If he'd had plans to send Stonewall to Kamino, he would have told her so.

Perhaps Stonewall was right, and his situation had more to do with the wrong person learning of his new abilities. But whom? Trax knew, but he was beyond suspicion. Ro and Lieutenant Wren knew, but Kali trusted the Altisian Jedi to keep the secret, for she and Wren had so many of their own and no great love for the Council, or even the GAR.

But if not them, than  _whom?_ Her steps quickened, as did the beat of her heart.

Onceshe stepped out of the turbolift on the hangar's level, Kali paused outside the wide hangar doors to collect herself. She'd been lucky and not seen many others on the way here, but chances were she'd have to interact with another sentient to get access to a speeder, and if she looked as distraught as she felt, questions would be asked and time would be wasted.

She caught her reflection in the gleaming doors. Her braid was mussed and her clothing rumpled, so she hastily redid the braid and smoothed her beige tunic, then lifted her shoulders and stepped through the hangar doors.

The hangar was vast by necessity, though it was only one of several housed by the Temple. The sleek starships favored for long-range missions were in another area; this hangar held shorter-range vehicles. The hangar itself was dimly-lit overall, though motion-sensor spotlights could be activated for mechanical work. Several hundred meters away, the opening to Coruscant beckoned, gleaming bright gold in the setting sun.

Since the Wars had started, the GAR had all but taken over the Jedi Temple hangar. Most of the space was taken up by the squat, bird-shaped LAAT/i troop transports, but she spotted the rows of gleaming speeders at the hangar's other side, so she began to cross the permacrete floor. Though her stride was purposeful she did not run or jog; she walked briskly through the space as if on an important, completely legitimate assignment. Which she was...from a certain point of view.

A few clone technicians and pilots were clumped around some of the vessels, some armored, some dressed in grease-spattered coveralls. None noticed her at first, and she felt a slip of hope, along with an idea...

But her mind was too frazzled, her concentration pulled in too many directions, for her to create the Force-shield that allowed her to move around unseen and undetectable by life-form scanners. Besides, she had a feeling that someonewas  _more_  likely to notice a speeder that began driving itself than one piloted by a Jedi.

"Good evening, sir." The clone voice was genial, but its suddenness made her heart seize. Kali paused as a fully-armored trooper flagged her down with a lift of his hand as he met her at the edge of the neat line of speeders.

Kali gave a slight bow from the waist, as was proper. "Good evening, trooper. I need a speeder...whom do I speak to about requisitioning one?"

He held up a datapad. "I can help you with that, General...?"

The thought occurred to her that being on probation might mean her speeder clearance was gone, but surely not. She was still a Jedi, after all.  _It's not like I'm trying to borrow a Star Destroyer or something._

"Halcyon," she said calmly. "General Kalinda Halcyon."

"Thank you, General." The clone tapped against his datapad, then, when the 'pad gave a wary beep, tilted his head as if confused. Her stomach sank when his T-visor tilted back up at her, embarrassment radiating from him. "I'm sorry, sir. It seems your speeder clearance has been rescinded. I can't allow you to check out a vehicle without authorization from a Council member."

 _Kriffing son of a shabla nerf-herder._ Kali schooled herself to calm and furrowed her brow. "That's odd," she said, genuinely confused. "Are you sure?"

"Let me check again, just in case." He entered the info, and the 'pad made the same unhappy noise. "Yes, sir, it's coming up negative," he said, showing her the screen. "Perhaps it is a mistake. Is there a member of the Council you'd like me to call?"

 _Not karking likely._ As subtly as she could manage, Kali reached to the clone through the Force to get a sense of the fellow. She found a young man, possibly not long off of Kamino, eager to please and succeed on his first assignment, but unwilling to bend any rules that might land him a reprimand.

In some ways, he reminded her of Milo when she'd first met him, so Kali gave a nod. "No, I can handle that. What's your name, trooper?"

He straightened and she felt a flare of worry from him for refusing her request. "Podger, sir."

"It's good to meet you, Podger." Kali gave him another smile, while flickering her gaze around them to ensure they were alone. No other clones were in sight. "Thank you for the information; I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding, but either way, I'll tell the Council you're doing an admirable job."

His worry dissipated with her words and smile, and his posture became slightly less rigid. "Thank you, sir. I  _am_  sorry I can't help you," he added quickly.

She shrugged, and casually reached her hand up as if to toy with her braid, silently apologizing to the young man for what she was about to do. Her fingertips fluttered as she directed a pulse of persuasive Force-energy at the clone's mind, while giving him a warm look.

"You're right; it must be a mistake," she said in her friendliest voice. "But, Podger, I  _really_  do need a speeder right now. Surely you can help me."

Podger's Force-presence rippled with hesitation at first, but relinquished after a moment as he nodded. "It must be a mistake, General," he said, glancing back at his datapad. "If you really need a speeder right now, I can help you."

"Thank you, Podge," Kali said, winking at him for good measure. His Force-presence glimmered with pleased embarrassment at the nickname and the wink, and she fought back her own chagrin at the act of toying with the young clone's emotions. She  _hated_ mind-tricks, but in this situation they were a necessary evil.

Podger entered some more information into his 'pad, then indicated a nearby airspeeder, closed-top model with crimson bands at the nose. "I'll just mark this one as out for maintenance; please return it within one rotation, or we'll have to activate the tracking limpet...and I'll get a reprimand."

"Sure thing," Kali said as she slipped behind the steering console. She fired up the speeder and offered Podger a final smile. "Thanks again, Podge. You're an asset to the GAR."

He saluted her sharply then stepped away as she maneuvered the speeder towards the hangar's opening. The moment she was clear of the Temple, a blast of cool air hit her face and she realized how quickly nighttime was settling over the planet. The darkness was gathering, and each passing second was one more where Shadow Squad needed her.

Milo.

Stonewall.

Blinking rapidly, Kali pressed a hand to her abdomen, but was able to keep her tears at bay this time.  _Focus on the here and now,_ she told herself, and gunned the engines.

* * *

_Meanwhile, in the Coruscant Guard detention area..._

Eyes closed, Weave leaned his head against the walls of the cell. "Trax, for the last time, please sit down."

His scarred brother ignored him and continued stalking through the little round cell, pausing every so often to slam his fist against the walls, the door frame, the benches that lined the area; anything that would withstand the abuse. "I'll  _fekking_  sit when they  _fekking_  shoot my  _fekking_  legs out from under me," he growled. " _Fek_."

"You said that already," Crest said from across the room.

Traxis exhaled sharply. "Yeah, well, I'm not feeling too kriffing creative right now, Baldy. Oh, look," he added, leveling a brutal kick at the wall beside him. "I bounced back."

Crest gave a weary chuckle. "Good one,  _vod_."

There were a few moments of relative quiet while Trax resumed his pacing, then Crest spoke up again. "How long has it been since they took the captain and Mi?"

"Two hours," Traxis said darkly. "Two  _fekking_ hours of sitting on our  _shebse_ and kriffing  _waiting._ I'm starting to lose my  _shabla_  patience."

The comment caused Weave to exchange glances with Crest, their thoughts clearly echoing one another.  _Starting to?_ Weave pulled himself away from the wall and leaned forward, knees on his elbows as he considered their situation again. Following the debacle in the barracks' rec-room, the three remaining members of Shadow Squad had been brought to a detention cell without a clue as to what was going on. Weave had asked if they could call their Jedi general, but his request had been ignored, and they'd not heard a peep out of anyone since.

Frowning, Weave laced his fingers together in an effort to calm himself. Trax wasn't the only one losing his patience; he just made it known. If Weave would have had something to  _do_ rather than just sit here, it might have been easier, but he didn't have so much as a bacta patch on him, and he felt a bit naked without his medic-pack. Their kits and equipment were not here, obviously, possibly still in the barracks, where they'd been left after Shadow had returned from the showers.

The worst part was  _not knowing._ Why had the captain been arrested and taken to Kamino? Why had the rest of them been tossed in a cell without even getting a chance to comm their general? And where was Kalinda? Did she even know what had happened?

And  _what_ sort of stunt had the captain pulled in the first place, to knock all those clones backward without touching them?

"Why in the Nine Hells did Milo hit that officer?" Crest said suddenly, causing the other two to glance his way. The bald clone sat with his back to the wall, his legs pulled close to his chest. "It's not like him to pull a punch like that, though it was pretty impressive."

Traxis froze in the center of the room. His head ducked and his hands balled into fists at his sides. "It's my fekking fault," he said hoarsely. "I was," he took a shuddering breath, "worried for Stonewall, and Mi may have heard me say that the captain wouldn't have anyone to watch his six.  _And_  I tried to punch Officer Kark-head first, which I think gave him the idea."

Weave was silent, considering. It made sense; Milo was nothing if not loyal to his  _vode_ , and he had a streak of deviousness that occasionally surfaced, albeit rarely. He looked up to his squad-mates, always hoping to prove himself as more than a "shiny."

 _Milo, you brave di'kut,_ Weave thought with a sigh.  _What the kriff have you gotten yourself into?_

Crest cleared his throat. "Officer Kark-head?"

"Yeah." Trax kicked the nearest bench, the resulting  _clang_ echoing in the small space. "Seemed fitting, especially since the  _chakaar_ didn't deign to give us his  _fekking_  name."

"I like it," Crest said, sitting up and regarding Traxis. "And I have to say...that was one hell of a right uppercut on Mi's part. I bet Officer Kark-head will have a lovely, purple bruise tomorrow."

Traxis snorted with amusement. "We can effing well hope."

Weave glanced at Traxis. "You were closer to Stonewall than I was...did you see what he did to those Guards?"

Trax went still. "What do you mean?"

"Yeah, that was weird," Crest added thoughtfully. "I mean, I didn't get a good look, but it  _looked_ like he sort of shoved them away, without touching–"

"He just shoved them," Trax broke in. "I was right there; I saw the whole thing."

But his voice was too earnest and his words came too quickly. Weave studied his scarred brother carefully, and wondered why Traxis did not meet his eyes. However, before the conversation could continue, the door slid open, revealing a group of four Corrie Guards, each carrying a standard DC-17 blaster. One clone entered while the other three flanked him on the other side of the threshold.

"Which one of you sods is Sergeant Weave?"

Traxis crossed his arms before his chest, feet squared. "Who the kriff wants to know?"

But Weave had already gotten to his feet. He slipped past Trax and went to stand about a meter from the newcomers, hands at his sides, voice calm. He didn't want to give anyone a reason to use those blasters. "I'm Weave," he said with a nod. "Is there a prob– "

Before he could finish, the first Corrie Guard gestured to Weave, and two of his men slipped by him, to where Weave stood. One man cuffed him while the other faced Trax and Crest, the latter of whom had stood as well.

"What are you doing with him?" Crest's voice was laced with agitation.

Traxis' words held nothing but fury. "The  _fek_ is going on?"

The first clone shifted his blaster, his T-visor swiveling between Weave's squad-mates, and Weave's stomach tightened with nerves even as he forced his words to be steady. "Calm down, both of you," he said to them in Mando'a. "I don't want anyone else getting stunned or shipped off to Kamino. There's been enough of that to last us a lifetime."

" _Vod_..." Trax said, but the word trailed off.

Weave was led out of the cell by the two clones, each gripping a bicep like their lives depended on it. He offered no resistance, but he did want some answers. The moment the cell door closed behind him, he glanced at the first clone, who seemed to be the leader of the small group. "What's going on? Where are you taking me?"

He expected another non-answer, but surprisingly, the Corrie Guard obliged him. "Commander Fox's office; standard debriefing before you and your squad's release. Apparently your Jedi is here to collect the lot of you."

Relief so strong it ached coursed through Weave's body and he nodded once. "Then we should hurry. I have no wish to keep my general waiting."

They led him down the winding corridors without another word. He tried to remember the way back to the cell, just in case, but his attention was pulled in too many directions to manage it, and before he knew it, they passed into what appeared to be a more administrative section of the barracks. The rows of cells were replaced with offices, and he could hear a chorus of good-natured jeers from a nearby rec-room, though he didn't recognize the area as the one Shadow Squad had been in a couple of hours earlier.

Weave's escort paused before a bland office door, and one of them pressed the lock panel. The screen glowed bright green, the door slid aside, and Weave mentally cheered when he saw the dark-haired, feminine figure seated at the desk within.

A familiar officer wearing a  _kama_  and the crimson-splashed armor of the Corrie Guards was seated across from her, and he glanced up as Weave was brought into the room. The officer's head tilted, and Weave caught sight of a bruise on his chin, which confirmed his analysis. So  _this_ was Officer Kark-head. Well, at least he had a real name. Trax would probably get a kick out of the fact that Milo had decked such a decorated officer.

"Here he is, General," Commander Fox said, glancing at the Jedi with no small amount of satisfaction on his face. "I apologize for the delay, sir."

 _He's apologizing to her?_ Weave thought, working to keep his expression neutral.  _Wow. Must be nice to be a Jedi._

Kalinda did not stand, nor turn. Fox gestured to his men, who brought Weave before her. Her dark eyes swept across him once, then she frowned. "Why is he bound?"

Her voice was cool and rang out sharply against the walls of the small office. Commander Fox's bruised jaw went tight as he nodded to one of his men, who began to undo the cuffs at Weave's wrists. "Standard security measure, sir."

"Sergeant," Kalinda said, ignoring Fox, "are you injured?"

Her posture and mannerisms were wholly professional, even cold, but the tone of her voice gave her away, at least to Weave, who knew her well enough to discern the worry in her words. Playing along, he gave the sharpest salute he could manage. "I'm fine, General Halcyon."

"The others?"

"Also fine, sir." Weave slanted a look at the men who'd brought him in. "But we are all anxious to be back under your command."

Kalinda's gaze darted to Fox. "Is it safe to return my men and their equipment, Commander? Do you need to detain them any longer?"

"No, sir," Fox said, nodding to his men, who saluted and began to file out of the room. "I'll have them and their kits brought to the atrium. All of this was simply a security measure, you understand."

"Thank you." Kalinda said nothing for a moment, simply regarded him long enough to make him shift his feet. At last, she spoke, her voice soft and far too steady. "What of Captain Stonewall and the clone Milo? I was informed they were sent to Kamino."

Fox cleared his throat. "Orders were to arrest CC-3077. The other fellow..." His hand lifted to touch his jaw. "The other fellow attacked an officer, so he was sent along as well. We can't afford those kinds of troublemakers here, sir."

"Of course not," Kalinda replied easily, nodding once. "Your quick action was commendable. I only wish I could have been present for the arrest." She sat up, presenting the picture of an ideal Jedi general, and regarded Fox. "Tell me, on whose orders was the captain arrested?"

Fox's brow furrowed. "You don't know, sir?"

Weave's heart began to race, but he kept his cool as he studied his Jedi. She had not asked  _why;_ she had asked  _whom._   _She knows why they took him, and I'd bet my last hypo it's got something to do with what he did in the rec-room._

Kalinda also remained calm, only shook her head once. "I've been tied up in the Council chambers all day, I'm afraid," she said with a sigh. "And – as far as I know – Captain Stonewall has done nothing to warrant such extreme discipline."

Commander Fox sat at his desk, pulled up a datapad, and began scrolling through it. As his attention was diverted, Kalinda took the opportunity to glance at Weave, and now he saw the full extent of her worry.  _Are you okay?_  she mouthed at him.

He nodded quickly.  _We all are._

"Ah, here we go," Commander Fox said, drawing both Kalinda and Weave's glances. Fox frowned over his 'pad, thumbing through the data, then shook his head once. "I'm sorry, sir, it says the status of CC-3077 is classified, as is the origin of the arrest warrant."

"How strange," Kalinda said. "I suppose I'll have to ask Mace about it." She slanted Fox an admirable look of mock-annoyance. "On top of everything else,  _now_ I'll have to train a new captain. Who has the time for that?"

"Welcome to the GAR, sir," Fox replied wryly, then caught himself and straightened his shoulders. "If there's nothing else..."

Kalinda considered, then shook her head. She rose and nodded to Weave, and they both crossed the office to the door, where Fox stood. Just as the Jedi set foot in the doorway, she snapped her fingers and looked at the commander. "Captain Stonewall and Milo's armor and weapons...will it all be returned with the others'?"

 _Odd_ , Weave thought, though he said nothing. _What does she want with the captain's kit? Sentimental value, maybe?_

Fox's brow furrowed, but he nodded once. "It can be arranged, sir."

"Great, thank you." Kalinda gave a graceful bow and slipped out the door, Weave at her heels. He wanted to take off running, just to put this place behind him, but she walked calmly, as if she didn't have a care in the void. When he cast her a curious look, she gave a tiny frown, but said nothing and looked ahead. Weave found his patience tested again.

They entered a turbolift and stood for a moment until Kalinda cleared her throat. "The atrium is level two, I believe," she said, arching her brow and nodding to the 'lift panel. "Sergeant."

Her eyes, though, flickered to some place above his head, and he remembered the security cams. Obviously they were not done feigning professionalism."Right, sir."

Weave activated the 'lift panel and the floor began to vibrate beneath their feet. A soft exhale met his ears, and Weave glanced at his Jedi again and noted the tension of her entire body, tension that she seemed to actively try to keep at bay. Her breathing was deliberately measured, her hands clenched and relaxed at her sides, and her eyes took on that glassy, far-away look they got when she accessed the Force. She looked like she was looking for something...

He had a feeling he knew. Of course she'd want to go looking for Stonewall, though that would mean a trip to Kamino, a place he was in no hurry to return to. However, Weave was not about to let her – or any of his  _vod_ – go off without him there to help. Force knew what kind of trouble the lot of them would get into without him to keep an eye on their  _shebse_.

It would mean going AWOL, of course. The thought should have bothered him more than it did, but the sight of his captain and Milo being dragged off by the Corrie Guards was fresh in his mind, and though he had a theory, he still didn't know exactly  _why_ Stonewall had been arrested. All he knew was that one of the most capable officers he'd ever worked with had been stunned and dragged off without a word as to  _why._ How quickly fortunes could sour.

Beside him, Kalinda Halcyon exhaled and ducked her head, her shoulders slumping in a way that sang out  _defeat._

The 'lift paused and the doors opened onto the atrium level of the Guard barracks. The area was chock-full of clone troopers and various military personnel, but Weave didn't see Crest or Trax, and he wondered if Fox would keep his word. Kalinda strode into the sea of clone armor without hesitation, and Weave followed, noting how a few clones cast curious glances at the petite dark-haired Jedi with the very obvious limp.

For a moment he wondered where they were going, then her steps quickened and he caught sight of two familiar, very welcome faces. Crest and Traxis emerged from a door at the far side of the room, fully kitted up and scanning the area; Trax even wore his medic-pack and carried a large duffel bag which Weave thought contained Stonewall and Milo's kits – and hopefully his as well. Crest spotted them first. He nudged Traxis and the two of them made to dart over, but Weave gave a slight shake of his head. Both of the other men seemed to catch on, for they stood at parade-rest and waited for their general.

Kalinda approached them but did not stop. Instead, she indicated that they follow, and the three clones fell into step behind her. Weave, as the most senior clone present, kept a pace behind her to her right, while Crest and Trax flanked them once Trax handed over his medic-pack. Weave sighed happily as the familiar weight settled over his shoulders and back; all he needed now was his armor and he'd be good as new.

The Jedi's steps were rapid now, to a degree. Her limp slowed her down, but the members of Shadow Squad were used to moderating their strides to match hers. She didn't say a word until the group exited the barracks' entrance and stepped onto the wide platform and the encroaching night.

The moment they were clear of the building, she let out a long breath. "Holy kriffing hell, that was lucky."

"What do you mean, Boss?" Crest asked, his helmet tilting as he walked.

"Yeah," Trax said, a scowl in his voice. "It's hard to think any of today has been 'lucky.'"

Kalinda indicated an airspeeder across the platform, and they began to head for it as she explained. "You should know that it's much easier to spring the three of you from a detention cell than to check out a kriffing speeder."

"Well, shucks," Crest said wryly. "Now I feel all warm and fuzzy inside."

"At least," her words darkened, "that's the case when you're a Jedi Knight who's on probation and has been recalled from active duty."

"Probation?" Crest exclaimed. "Why the kriff are you on... Oh."

Traxis' voice was a low growl. "They found out about the captain, didn't they?"

Kalinda shot him a wary look. "About our relationship, yes."

Something about the exchange was off, but there wasn't time to speculate. Traxis punched the flat of his left hand with his right fist. "So, when do we spring him and Milo from the long-necks?"

The dark-haired Jedi blanched and her steps faltered as she paused and looked between the three remaining members of Shadow Squad. "You can't risk yourselves–"

"With respect, General," Traxis said, stopping beside her and pulling off his bucket to meet her eyes. "We karking well can."

Crest tugged off his helmet as well; the four of them stood on the duracrete platform, illuminated by the city-planet's ubiquitous lights. Crest put a hand on her shoulder, drawing her eyes. "We're with you, Boss," he said gently, squeezing once. "For better or for worse. Hopefully better."

Weave thumbed the direction of the speeder. "Either way, we should keep moving."

Kalinda looked between the three of them, her dark eyes wide, and if Weave didn't know any better, he'd have thought he saw her eyes get bright as if with unshed tears. However, before she could speak, an all-too-familiar voice rose up behind them.

"General Halcyon," Commander Fox called from the entrance to the barracks. "I need to speak with you." There was a grim certainty behind his words, and the presence of half a dozen armed clones flanking him indicated that he didn't want to have a friendly chinwag.

"Hey, look," Crest said, grinning. "It's Officer Kark-head. I guess he missed us."

"I think he goes by, 'Commander Fox,'" Weave corrected.

"I'm afraid there's been a mistake, sir." The commander and his Guards drew closer. "We've orders to return you to the Temple."

Kalinda's jaw tightened and she glanced between the three of them. "This is the point of no return," she said in Mando'a, so softly that Weave almost missed her words. "There's no shame in staying behind."

Traxis shifted his duffel bag over his shoulder and straightened his spine. "We've got your six, General. We can handle these  _di'kutle_."

"Yep," Crest said, shoving his bucket on his head. "Lead the way, Boss. We're on your side."

Weave met Kalinda's eyes and noted the question within them. He made sure his answer was firm. "One-hundred percent."

She nodded, took a breath, and turned, slowly, to face Fox and his men. Her hands hung loosely at her sides, far away from her lightsaber, but she had that distant look in her eyes again, the one that meant she was reaching for the Force. Maybe it was his imagination, but Weave thought the atmosphere around the group started to feel a little heavier, like a bolo-ball that had been placed at the center of a lifted blanket. Everything around seemed to pull toward one point: the dark-haired woman who met Fox's T-visor with her own blank stare.

"I'm afraid that's not possible, Commander." Her voice was unnaturally steady. Her hands flexed, and the rush of energy in his ears alerted Weave to what was about to happen.

"Now," he called to Crest and Traxis. Neither man carried his blaster – it was against regs to walk around with a loaded deece within the barracks, unless you had prior authorization – but they had the element of surprise on their side. Not to mention the Force.

The Jedi lifted her hands and sent Fox and four of his men tumbling backwards, the action reminding Weave far too much of what the captain had done earlier. The other two kept their feet and lunged for the Jedi, but Crest and Traxis were ready, and met the Corrie Guards head-on. Literally. They ducked their heads and pummeled into the Guards, the resounding  _smack_ of plastoid against plastoid echoing in the evening air. The two Guards stumbled back, disoriented.

Weave had already grabbed the gear bags Trax carried, so the four of them seized the opportunity and rushed across the platform toward the airspeeder. Something whirred past his head – a stun bolt. Weave shot a harried glance over his shoulder and saw that Fox and his men had regained their footing almost at once, and were in hot pursuit. Another stun bolt streaked by. He looked ahead, gritted his teeth, and, on a whim, grabbed Kalinda's arm to help her along, faster. Luckily, she didn't need assistance now; her steps were fast and smooth, probably Force-aided.

Thank the stars, the close-topped speeder was large enough to accommodate all four of them, though it was a tight fit. Kalinda slid in the driver's seat while Weave sat beside her, with Crest and Trax in the rear. Plasma bolts, bright blue against the darkness, streaked beside the windows, their size and shape indicating they were true shots and not stunning bolts.

As the Jedi revved the engine, Traxis withdrew a blaster and made to pop out the window and return fire, but Kalinda stopped him. "Don't shoot them."

"Better them than  _us_."

"Fine, but don't hurt anyone, civilian or otherwise," she amended as the speeder lifted up, into the lanes of traffic above their heads. "Only slow them down; they're your brothers, after all."

Leaning out the airspeeder's open window, Traxis lobbed off a round of carefully aimed bolts at the barracks' landing platform, where Fox and his men were swarming into their own speeders. "They stopped being my brothers the minute they carted Stonewall and Milo away," the scarred clone growled. "Just get us the fek out of here."

"I think that's the plan, Trax," Crest called, also leaning over the edge, his own blaster pointed at their rear. Kalinda gunned the speeder's engines again in an effort to make the most of what few moments' head start they'd achieved.

Weave's stomach plummeted down as the speeder shot  _up,_ and he wished he'd had time to replace his kit, but that was out of the question now. Another round of blaster-bolts whizzed by his window and made him duck on instinct, even as Trax and Crest both returned fire. The speeder veered to the side, causing his temple to smack against the door frame in the process. Kriff, he should at least get a bucket on his head. With that thought, he unzipped the nearest duffel bag, which as it happened contained Stonewall's kit.

 _Sorry sir,_ Weave thought as he dug around for the captain's helmet.  _Hopefully you won't mind..._

His fingertips brushed the captain's bucket, but that wasn't what gave him pause. No, it was the familiar metallic cylinder of a lightsaber, gleaming quietly from its place folded in Stonewall's  _kama._

"Boss...look out!" Crest called, jerking Weave's attention away from his discovery. He glanced up in time to see two things: Kalinda's dark eyes on him, wide with fear, and a massive public transport, bearing down upon them from the opposite lane.

The Jedi faced forward and tilted the steering yoke. Hard. "Kriff! Hang on, guys!"

The speeder flipped upside-down, and Weave's vision went right along with it.


	5. Chapter Four

A/N: This chapter  **very lightly**  alludes to two stories posted on my AO3 account:  _Teyr_  and  _Wayfarer_   _I._  The allusions are of a romantic nature, and occur between two males – sort of unrequited love.

If you have not read either fic, you will not miss anything relevant to this story. If you HAVE read them, your angst-meters will be going haywire. ;)

But first, more airspeeder antics!

Lyrics:[ "Halcyon," by Ellie Goulding, from same.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w-LSn0wDsAY&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp&index=5)

* * *

**Chapter Four**

_I know you're a fighter,_

_But you never fought for me,_

_When I was a shelter,_

_'Cause you're not heading home to me._

_We could be closer._

_We could be closer._

_We could be..._

Normally, Crest didn't mind fast flying, but this little jaunt was pushing him well past his comfort-zone. He'd never liked the flying sims back on Kamino, and had always been happy to let another brother pilot whatever vessel Shadow Squad had been aboard. Thank the Force, he and Trax had managed to duck back inside before the general's barrel-roll, so they weren't tossed out the windows and to certain doom. That would be bad. Hence the "certain doom" part.

"For fek's sake," Traxis yelled. "Kriffing watch where you're going!"

"I can pull over if you want to drive, Trax," the boss called back.

Crest shoved Trax's shoulder. " _Udesii_ ,  _vod._ Cool your jets! The unfriendlies are out  _there_ , remember?"

He didn't miss the way Kalinda frowned at his words, but she said nothing as she veered the speeder between a line of oncoming vehicles, which, in retrospect, Crest should not have looked at. His stomach dropped at the sight, and again when their vehicle dropped down, down, down, faster than any of the other airspeeders around. Before he could protest, she flipped the speeder again, doing a nifty double barrel-roll that he would have happily appreciated from solid ground.

The advantage to all of the stomach-turning acrobatics was that the blaster-bolts of their pursuers had ceased. After several more flips and twirls, their Jedi wove the speeder through a line of traffic controllers, then darted between several bulky buildings.

Once they were within the shadows, she switched off the exterior lights and eased the vehicle to a standstill, then glanced at Weave, who now wore the captain's bucket. "We have a problem."

"Kriffing understatement of the year," Trax muttered.

If she heard him, she made no indication of it. "We can outrun their speeders, but we can't outrun a limpet."

Trax frowned and Crest scratched his head. "What the frag's a limpet?"

But Weave nodded and pulled off the captain's bucket, brandishing it as he replied. "Limpets are vehicular tracking devices. Our helmets are equipped with something similar."

"Can you deactivate those?" Kalinda asked, twisting to peer out the window, into the shadows that surrounded them. Even at night, Corrie was only truly dark in bits and pieces, like here in the shelter of whatever building they were beside.

Weave nodded again and began to rummage through his medic-pack, stowed between his legs. "Yeah, but I'll need a few minutes. Hopefully my all-tool kit's in here..."

"There's one of these limp-things on this speeder?" Crest asked, peering out his window. Surely any moment Fox and his cronies would come screaming out from behind one of the buildings.

"Yes. They're generally on the undercarriage," Kalinda replied. "I think I can reach it from my seat..."

" _You_  need to fly us," Traxis said. "We need those fancy Jedi-moves of yours to avoid Commander Foxy-Kark and his men."

"And I need to work on the buckets," Weave added. "Hand 'em over,  _vode."_

 _Well, fek_. That only left two options. After they tossed their helmets to Weave, Crest and Traxis exchanged looks. "Not it," Crest said quickly, causing Trax to roll his eyes.

Where she normally - probably - would have chuckled, now Kalinda's gaze sharpened as she glanced between them. "Actually, Crest, I think the limpet is on your side, so it might be easier for you to–"

Her words were cut off by a streak of electric-blue bolts whizzing past them. Either Foxy's men were terrible shots, or they were just trying to get the fugitives' attentions. Maybe some of both. Without hesitation, the boss faced forward and revved the airspeeder's engines again, flipped on the lights, and urged the vehicle up, towards a steady line of traffic.

"I can keep them off our tails, but you guys need to get rid of that karking limpet," she called over the whine of the engines.

"It should be a flattish, roundish device, probably beside the left nacelle," Weave added, bent over Trax's bucket with his all-tool kit.

Crest fought back a surge of motion-sickness as the airspeeder zoomed upward, and turned for the open window. Sticking his head out – carefully – he grimaced at the endless, endless line of airspeeders below, and the veritable kaleidoscope of lights and neon signs that decorated this part of the world. This was not going to be fun. Wind whipped at his bare skull, sending chills throughout his body, and as he ducked back inside, he prayed he wouldn't puke everywhere.

He glanced at Trax, who'd moved closer to offer assistance, and began to babble. "Look,  _vod,_ if I don't make it, tell everyone I died bravely. And leave out the puking. If there is any, I mean. You never know what the future holds, and mine's not looking pretty–"

"We're not getting any younger, Baldy," Trax broke in. "Shut the fek up and get to work down there."

Despite his nerves, Crest snickered. "Ah, I'll bet you say that to all the guys."

The resulting cuff he got from his scarred brother didn't help anything, not really, but it gave him something else to think about, which made him feel a tiny bit better. Good old Trax.

Swallowing hard, Crest turned back to the open window, took a deep breath, and pulled his torso through, taking care to grip the window's edge tightly. Even through the protective shell of his armor, the wind's blast was brutal, and he wished he had his bucket to help regulate the air temp, as well as give him that much more  _something_ between his face and the fardling void of Corrie. The dark, flat sky held no stars, but there were plenty of artificial lights tucked in the surrounding buildings, all of which meant it was impossible to keep his sense of  _up_ and  _down._ A few blaster-bolts streaked through his field of vision, but the boss dodged them, though the resulting swerve made his guts twist and his grip tighten.

Now seated on the window's edge, Crest shifted his grip to the topmost portion and glanced down at his scarred  _vod._ "Trax?"

Two hands grabbed his belt, holding strong. "I've got you, Crest," Trax called through the screaming wind.

His gruff voice was oddly reassuring, and Crest nodded once. "Alright. I'm going down."

A lewd joke naturally came to mind, but his throat suddenly was too dry to form the words, so he tucked the thought away for later. Assuming there'd be a later...

 _Nope. Don't think about that osik,_ he told himself.  _Mind on the mission, soldier._ He took a breath to gather his nerves and decided to think of the limpet as just another det he had to extract. He'd had  _tons_ of experience in that area, though nothing quite like this. But he was a fekking clone, and could handle this situation.

Confidence somewhat bolstered, he shifted his body so that his stomach-plate lay across the lower edge of the window, and began to work his way down the airspeeder's side. Wind rushed past him, the whistling broken only by an occasional vehicular buzz, but he was able to ignore all of it and focus. Trax's grip was secure, and Crest trusted his  _vod_ to keep him safe, despite all the jokes he made at Trax's expense.  _If that's not a true brother, I don't know what is._

Inch-by-inch, he walked his hands toward the speeder's undercarriage, pulling himself farther and farther out of the window with each eternal moment. The slow pace helped him acclimate to being upside-down, and thankfully there were a few secure mechanical-things to grip once he truly reached the airspeeder's underbelly. He deliberately did not look at any of the vehicles whizzing beneath – or above? – his head, nor the buildings that stretched around on all sides.

Things got a little dicey when a hail of electric-blue plasma bolts rained on either side of the vehicle, then the whole world tilted and he was right-side up, all of a sudden leaning over an overturned airspeeder. He caught the startled glance of a Rodian on a swoop about ten meters away, then the boss righted their vehicle and he was once more beneath the kriffing thing.

"You alright, Baldy?" Traxis' voice sounded high and thin through the wind.

 _Fek, fek, fekkity fek._ Crest's throat was dry and he was dizzy from all the flipping, so he knew his own voice wouldn't be much better. But the thought of Trax worrying about him gave him a weird kind of surety. "One-hundred-percent," he called back. "Just another day on the job, you know?"

With that, Crest tightened his grip on whatever mechanical thingy he held, and began to search for the limpet. For a few tense moments he didn't see a damn thing that fit Weave's vague description, and panic set in. Then, thank the stars and moons and asteroids, he caught sight of the tiny, flat device tucked behind some bulky mechanical thing he didn't recognize. That was good.

What wasn't so good was that the limpet was juuuust out of his reach.  _Osik._

Still hanging on tight, he twisted his head around. "Trax?"

"Crest?"

More blaster-bolts zoomed by his head, though thankfully the speeder didn't swerve overmuch. Still, Crest really wished he could fly. "I can't reach the limp-thing. I need about two inches. And no comments from the warra-nut gallery."

There was a beat of silence, and had it not been for Trax's grip on his belt, Crest would have sworn he was alone. Not a pleasant thought with the city-planet stretched over his head. Or below.  _Whatever_.

At last, he heard Trax's voice again, yelling over the wind. "Kalinda has a plan. She says hang on."

"Wait...what?"

There was no response. Instead, the crinking speeder flipped upside-down again, putting Crest right-side up, with a flat, easy-to-maneuver-across undercarriage before him as it had been moments ago.  _Ah, well that makes life a bit easier._

Then Trax's comforting grip disappeared, and Crest  _knew_  he was going to puke. "I have to let go for a second, to give you those inches," Trax yelled. "So move your  _shebs!"_

 _Don't have to tell me twice._ Tucking into a crouch, Crest scrambled across the undercarriage, heart pounding and sweating buckets despite the cold battery of wind. The limpet blinked quietly, oblivious to the trouble it was causing, and Crest was a glad he got to destroy the karking thing. Kneeling, he began to wrench it free of its home, silently cursing its maker and manufacturer. As he worked, two speeders streaked by, their occupants clearly dumbfounded at the sight of an upside-down airspeeder being vandalized by a bald-headed clone trooper.

 _The Republic's finest, hard at work,_  he thought grimly as he pried the limpet loose. Luckily it wasn't bolted to the undercarriage, but rather attached with a series of plastoid clips, soft and pliable from being close to the heat of the engine.

Manufacturing defect? Maybe he'd been too harsh before...

He had another stroke of luck when the limpet came off in one piece, so he flung it away, toward the fathomless line of traffic below, and eagerly turned back the way he'd come. Just as he reached the undercarriage's edge, another stream of blaster-fire passed by, too close. Much too close. The speeder rocked and Crest automatically flattened himself against the metallic bits and pieces of the vehicle's underbelly.

More shots were fired, though it seemed the boss was able to avoid being hit while flying upside-down, though how long  _that_ would last, he had no kriffing clue. He had to get back to the window. Steeling himself not to look anywhere but the next place for his hands, Crest began to inch his way back to the undercarriage's edge. Beneath his body, the vehicle thrummed, each sensation seeming to rattle right through his armor and into his very bones. The scents of hot metal and ozone filled his nose, and his breaths grew increasingly shallow. More bolts streaked by, and this time he caught a glimpse of white and crimson armor in the corner of his eyes, which meant that Commander Fox and his cronies were on their fragging  _shebse._

_Something tells me this isn't going to end well._

"Come on,  _vod_!" Traxis' arms waved ahead, flailing out in an effort to reach Crest, but he couldn't close the distance. Those karking two inches. If only Jango had been a little taller...

A bolt slammed against the speeder's nose, jarring the entire thing and causing Crest to slide along as the vehicle pitched to the left. Another bolt landed, this one right beside his cheek, and sent a shower of sparks over his skin. Pained and startled, Crest's careful grip was dislodged and the next thing he knew, there was nothing surrounding him but empty, empty air.

Crest fell. It was only a second, but it felt like a lifetime.

Then, it was as if someone had shoved a blanket or tarp beneath him, like he'd been caught mid-air by something solid and wonderful. He'd gotten his wish; he was...flying, somehow, in tandem with the airspeeder's course. Right-side up now, the speeder slipped through a cloud of steam exhaled from some manufacturing plant or another, taking him right along with it. A few moments later, he twisted around to watch as the Corrie Guards' speeders passed above his head, and he realized he'd not only accomplished his task, but lived to make fun of Trax another day.

"Crest!"

Still floating, he glanced down; the boss' head was sticking out of the driver's window, her eyes on him, her hands outstretched. The moment he looked at her, a relieved smile broke over her face, and she made a beckoning gesture that drew him closer. About a minute later he was guided to the window's edge, where Traxis helped him work his way back inside, and soon he sat upon his seat again, and had it not been for his panting breath, it was like none of that crazy  _osik_ had just happened.

Weave had the controls, nearly in their Jedi general's seat; evidently she'd made him drive while she did her Force-thing. "Are you okay?" she asked.

His body buzzed with adrenaline, his face was raw from the bite of wind, and he needed a clean body-glove. But he was alive.  _Thank the Force, indeed._

"Never better," he managed.

Traxis slapped his back affectionately, then glanced at their Jedi. "We need to keep moving; Fox's men will find us eventually. Is there somewhere safe we can regroup?"

"Preferably somewhere with a floor," Crest added.

The Jedi nodded and glanced at Weave, who'd returned to his seat. "Did you get the buckets figured out?"

"Yeah, we're all set. As far as the GAR is concerned, Shadow Squad just went off the grid. There's just one more loose end..." Weave took a deep breath before reaching into one of the duffel bags, withdrawing a recognizable sort of weapon, though the hilt itself was not familiar.

Crest did not miss the way Trax's body stilled, nor the fact that Kalinda's face paled as the medic offered the lightsaber to her. "This was with Stonewall's kit," Weave said in his calm medic-voice. "Mind telling us what's really going on, General?"

* * *

_Approximately two weeks earlier..._

Before he stepped outside the house, Captain Stonewall removed his bucket, exhaled, and reached out with his senses. Where the Force had once felt like a barrage of impressions, time and training had provided him the means to sift through the information overload and focus only on what mattered. Now, for example, he could sense the emotions of everyone in his immediate area: Trax's determination to come out of this alive; Kali's concern for their young package; the overwhelming fear from said package, an Iktotchi youngling about a year and a half old.

Another inhale helped Stonewall gather his strength, then set the awareness of those emotions aside. They were useful to understand, but not pertinent for this exact moment. He did not need to know what lay behind him; he needed to know what lay ahead, in waiting.

It was high summer in this part of Balasi. The humid air coated his throat, making each breath akin to taking a drink of tepid water, but he found it easier to access the Force without his helmet. Heat rippled the air around the little shack where they'd found the kidnapped youngling, and aphrens buzzed around his head like airspeeders during Coruscanti rush-hour. Despite the shack's proximity to a broad, flat marsh, there was little breeze to speak of, and beads of sweat trickled down his temple to cling to his eyebrows.

The Outer Rim world was sparsely populated in all but a few areas. What wasn't fetid swamp was desert or tundra, or frothing oceans. Balasi had no strategic value, no unique resources to speak of, no special place along the galaxy's hyperlanes. Though he knew it was more complicated than he realized, as far as Stonewall was concerned, Balasi's only defining feature seemed to be its inhospitable nature. Certainly he'd grown acquainted with it well-enough over the past tenday.

Stonewall exhaled again, and assessed the surrounding area, searching for unfriendlies. As was his custom, he had one of his blaster-pistols drawn, though there was a new, constant weight at his hip, below his  _kama._ A lightsaber. Of all things...

Well, at least he knew how to use it. Thankfully, he'd picked up on the mechanics of lightsaber combat fairly quickly, though that was mostly due to long hours training with vibroswords as a cadet on Kamino. Clones, especially command-units, were taught to use a wide variety of weapons.

Other than the aphrens, the only living creatures he found were a pair of indigo snakes hiding in the tall grasses and a single Balasian alligator idly watching his movements from afar. Other than that, it was just hot and humid, and he was ready to be gone from this place.

Stonewall let out a relieved breath and glanced behind him, where Traxis stood a few paces inside the door, blaster-rifle raised. "We're clear."

Trax's helmet tilted, the blank T-visor casting Stonewall's reflection back at him. "You didn't scan for life-signs?"

 _Fek._ Only a few people knew of Stonewall's new Force-abilities, and Traxis was not one of them. It was better this way. As the lover of their Jedi general, Stonewall knew he was too different as it was, and had no wish to set himself further apart from his men than he already had.

And of course, only he and Kali knew of their child. It was still so new, so fantastic, that he still didn't quite believe it was real unless he immersed himself in the Force and reached out to sense the life growing within the woman he loved.

In response to Trax's words, he shoved his bucket over his head. "Sometimes it's better to see with your own eyes."

"Right." There was skepticism in Trax's tone, but no argument. He indicated behind him, where Stonewall Kali sat on an overturned crate, rocking the youngling. "She finally got the  _ad'ika_  to settle down – just in time for us to move out. Figures."

"With any luck, we'll have him back to his father soon," Stonewall replied. He sent a gentle prod to Kali through the Force, and she lifted her eyes to his. Even before he'd gotten true access to the Force, they'd been able to speak without words, just using their emotional connection. Somehow. He still wasn't quite sure how it all worked.

 _The coast is clear,_ he told her through their bond.  _How is the little guy?_

Kali smiled down at the child, the son of a prominent Iktotchi diplomat who'd been taken hostage by Seps. Omree Taro was a fat little fellow with two tiny buds where his curving horns would be one day, and he  _fit_  in her arms, belonged there, in a way. Not that Stonewall wanted to keep the youngling, but the sight of Kali cradling a child resonated strongly within him, and he felt a fierce flare of protective energy for the both of them as Kali got to her feet, rubbing the child's back.

 _He's a little better,_ she replied.  _Still scared, but very tired. And interested in you and Trax._

Stonewall frowned.  _You can tell_ all  _of that through the Force?_

She gave the equivalent of a mental shrug.  _Most of it, yes. Omree's abilities are not nearly as finely-tuned as his dad's, but you guys are definitely making an impression._ Iktotchi were telepathic, to a degree, so Kali had been trying to sooth him both with words and with ripples of comforting Force-energy. The poor kid was terrified, so it'd taken almost all of her efforts to do so, which left Stonewall and Trax to ensure the area was safe.

 _Nice to have a fan-club._ Stonewall adjusted his grip on his pistol and spoke through his external mic, taking pains to keep his voice gentle and not disturb the child needlessly. "Ready to head out?"

"Yes," she said. "I think I can even coax him to keep quiet for the next part of our plan."

So far, the mission had been rough, no doubt, but hopefully they were nearing the figurative finish line. Milo, Weave and Crest had reportedly kept the bulk of the Separatist terrorists busy in the main city of Caprin, but Kali thought there was something amiss about this place, and Stonewall was inclined to agree with her. While the others kept the Seppie kidnappers busy, Kali, Stonewall and Traxis had sought out the youngling, following a trail of the poor kid's fear in the Force, like footprints on sand. There'd only been one nursemaid droid out here, which Trax had taken the pleasure of demolishing.

"Copy that," Stonewall replied, nodding once to Trax, who lifted his weapon and crouched into a ready-stance. "I'll go first and make sure the way to our swoops is clear. Trax, cover me."

"Understood." Trax's voice was clipped, his body tense and waiting to spring into action. Stonewall always felt better knowing his scarred brother was watching his six.

Now, the captain stepped completely outside the shack, every sense alert. The HUD of his helmet fed him a steady stream of data about the area – temperature, air pressure, gases and potential toxins in the atmosphere – and a small corner of the screen showed him the vital signs of each of his men. The rest of Shadow Squad's heart rates were high; likely they were in a hot zone. But they hadn't comm'd so he had to trust they were okay. When his group was on the way back to town, he would call Weave for a sitrep.

He took a step down and planted his boots on the dirt, still searching. The buzz of aphrens seemed a little louder out here in the open, but other than that, nothing was outwardly wrong. But something niggled at him. Something wasn't  _right._ He took three more steps and looked up.

A vapor trail stood out against the endless blue, and ice bloomed through his veins. A missile.  _Kriff._ He whirled back to the house, where Trax stood just outside the doorway, Kali a step behind. "Incoming projectile," Stonewall called. "Clear the area!"

Immediately, Trax reached back to the Jedi, drawing her and the Iktotchi youngling past him and through the doorway. The poor kid screamed and wriggled in Kali's arms as she struggled to keep him from falling. For a baby, Omree seemed pretty strong. Stonewall felt his fear through the Force, a barrage of emotions that would have once incapacitated him, but not any longer.

Traxis followed her; the three of them began to race across the dirt, toward the grassy area where they'd left their swoops. Kali held Omree close and Stonewall felt her gather the Force to her as she ran, both to keep the child still and to aid her movements so she could run without limping. He tried to bolster her with his own Force-abilities and a hand on her arm. They reached the edge of the marsh, but there was no time to find a dry path across; they sloshed into the knee-high water and struggled for the sandy shore, beyond which lay the tall, yellow marsh-grass and their swoops.

Behind them, the missile reached the little shack perhaps twenty seconds after Stonewall had first noticed it. Shards of wood and glass exploded from the point of contact. A shock-wave rolled after the group, shoving them to their knees in the brackish water while the remains of the shack clattered on all sides.

Kali didn't wear armor. It was one of the few sore points between her and Stonewall, who could not understand why she felt the need to run around in only the flimsy robes of the Jedi Order with no protection to speak of. She had her Force-shield, but all of her attention was taken up with the child, and he knew she couldn't manage it right now. Without thinking, he threw himself over her and Omree, hoping to shelter the two of them from the falling debris. A few splinters bounced off his armored back, but they fell harmlessly to the side, and a strange kind of satisfaction filled him. He'd protected her when she could not do the same.

The moment did not last.

" _Fek_!" Trax had gotten to his feet, and was now pointing ahead with the muzzle of his blaster. "Look sharp, Stonewall! Fragging tinnies, incoming."

No sooner had the words left his mouth did the incoming droids start to fire. Stonewall uncurled from Kali and Omree and darted forward, keeping his body between them and the approaching droids. There were two dozen, older-model SBDs, common towards the start of the Wars but not so much now. Rows of red blaster-bolts streamed out from their wrists as they advanced, marching through the marsh, unhindered by water or mud as they flanked the Republic group.

Traxis immediately began to return fire, as did Stonewall, but they were only two. Even if Kali had been able to use her lightsaber or her blaster, the odds were still not good. Three droids were felled, but the remaining twenty-one continued to advance. Ducking to avoid shots, Stonewall and Traxis backed up to Kali and the youngling, using their armored bodies to shield the Jedi and her charge.

Stonewall inhaled and the world came into focus. Time slowed. Every crimson bolt seemed clearly defined against the blue sky, and he found he could duck to avoid most of them with ease. A few seared the edges of his armor, but did little more than sting. Beneath his chest-plate, his heartbeat seemed casual, like he was out for a stroll. He downed one of the droids with a well-aimed shot at its photoreceptors and glanced beside him.

In sharp contrast to his own strange calm, Traxis was a roil of fury and fear, the emotions surfacing with each fire of his rifle, each hurled swear. He was afraid; for Kali and the child, for Stonewall. Not for himself. Never himself.

Kali crouched in the water, and he could feel her gathering the Force to her as if about to throw up her shield, but she was tired and her inner resources were drained from the mission. And even if she could hide them for a few moments, it would only serve as a temporary reprieve.

He turned back to the droids, and a familiar weight tugged at his hip. There was no time to consider the repercussions, which wouldn't make a kriff of difference anyway if they all died, so in one motion he holstered his pistol, withdrew and activated the lightsaber. Even against the sky it glowed brilliantly, and the hum was a comfort. The hilt was smaller than he would have preferred – it had not been built for his hands – but it sufficed. Besides, he would not have wanted any other weapon.

Time had slowed, but seemed of little consequence any longer. Stonewall leaped for the nearest droid, slicing its torso in half without a thought. He gathered the Force again and turned for the next clanker; this one toppled over when its limbs were cut away. Another was lifted and pulled close to receive a blow to the chest, where its main control relays were located.

To Trax's credit, he did not stop shooting once, but the other clone's shock rippled at the edges of Stonewall's awareness. Once Stonewall had taken out a good half-dozen of the droids, more blaster-bolts joined Trax's; Kali had withdrawn her trusty LL-30, adding its high-pitched song to the melody of dying clankers. Determination replaced the fear, along with awe and love, and Stonewall grinned despite himself. The Force sang through his blood like starlight streaking through the black, and he savored the feeling.

The fight lasted about five minutes. When the last droid was downed by a bifurcating blow to the torso, Stonewall deactivated the lightsaber and surveyed the pile of dead tinnies with satisfaction. He'd managed to keep relatively near the others, so when he looked up to ensure they were all unharmed, he found he was just a few paces away from Kali and Omree. They both were dripping wet and muddy, but unharmed, and the Iktotchi youngling gaped at Stonewall, fear forgotten.

Kali looked at Stonewall, then at Traxis, who stood close, a few inches short of an arm's length. The scarred clone had removed his helmet, and now stared at his captain like Stonewall had...

Well, like he'd just whipped out a Jedi-weapon and used the Force.

 _Fek_. Not sure what to say, Stonewall stowed the lightsaber beneath his  _kama_ , then cast his  _vod_ a chagrined look that would not be seen with his bucket still on.

But the other clone shook his head, a scowl cutting across his face and distorting the scar that ribboned from his temple down past his neck. Waves of confusion, hurt and – worst of all – distrust, had joined the fury and the fear, and they were all directed at Stonewall.

" _Vod_..."

Trax's face darkened further, and he shook his head. " _Fek_  you," he muttered, and shoved past the captain. "Come on," he said, louder, in a voice meant to reach Kali. "We should keep moving. Kriff knows what other  _osik_  is out there."

* * *

_The following evening..._

The mission was over. The Iktotchi kid was reunited with his  _buir_ , and Shadow Squad was probably in line for a commendation. Everyone was tired, but relieved, and the diplomat had arranged a huge dinner to be provided for the Republic group, to thank them in some small way for their hard work. Weave, Milo and Crest had done an admirable job keeping the Sep terrorists busy in the town of Caprin, and of course the child was unharmed, now safe in his dad's arms. There was a lot to celebrate.

But Traxis did not feel like celebrating.

He stood outside of the diplomat's home, leaning against the sandstone railing as he studied the moons. There were three. Two appeared to be the size of his thumbnail should he have held it up to compare, while the third was small, barely wider than the tip of his pinky. The sky was overcast but the cloud cover was erratic, pushed across the dome by fierce, upper-level winds while the moons danced in and out of the shifting clouds.

Behind him, the dinner was winding down. It was a quiet affair, just the diplomat, his family, and Shadow Squad. Everyone was set to depart in the morning; the Iktotchi for their homeworld, Shadow Squad for...

Trax sighed. Who fekking knew where? Did it even matter? He was a canned soldier, one of millions. He knew damn well he'd go where and do what he was told. He'd probably die on some backwater mudball with a plasma bolt in his skull, and there would be no one to mourn him.

 _Kriff, I should give it a rest._ He scowled at the tumbler of whiskey at his elbow. He'd only had a few swallows, but apparently it was enough to cast his thoughts into such maudlin  _osik_.

"Trax."

The familiar voice only deepened his scowl and made his jaw get tight, but he said nothing. Maybe if he didn't acknowledge his captain, Stonewall would get the hint and leave him alone.

No such luck.

The other clone stood beside him at the railing and surveyed the city. Parts of it were smoking ruins, courtesy of the Seppies, but not as many as there could have been, and it was quiet at last. Further proof that Shadow Squad had done their job effectively.

Stonewall took a deep breath. "So, now you know."

Traxis looked at the moons obscured by clouds.  _Force-sensitive._  It made sense, in a weird, effed up kind of way. It explained a lot. But not everything.

There was a beat, then Stonewall sighed again, and turned to Traxis. "It started about eight months after Aruna. Kali and I don't know how it happened, or why. Only that it did. She's tried to teach me some things...mostly with controlling it. And," he added, a faint smile in his voice, "using a lightsaber. I have to say, that's been one of the more enjoyable aspects."

Traxis was silent. If he spoke, if he even fekking moved, he'd go supernova.

Another pause, and Trax knew without looking that Stonewall would have that thoughtful look on his face, the one that creased his forehead and pulled his lips together, the one that would eventually smooth into determination once he settled on his next approach. It might take him a while, but when he found his path, he would not stray from it.

At last, Stonewall took another breath. "I know you're angry with me, but I'm asking you to please not tell the others. Will you do that, Traxis?"

The clouds shifted, revealing a little more of the third moon. Even from here, Traxis could see it was a different shape than the other two, misshapen and asteroid-scarred. A warm wind blew, rifling through his off-duty fatigues and teasing his hair.

" _Vod_?"

Now he looked at Stonewall, and took no pains to allow his anger and hurt – yes, hurt, there was no use hiding it anymore – to seep through his words. "I'm not your effing  _vod_ , Stonewall."

It was probably the worst thing he could have said. Stonewall reacted visibly; his mouth opened but no sound came out, and his shoulders slumped. "You don't mean that."

" _Vode_ don't keep secrets like that from each other." Traxis gripped the railing with white knuckles. " _Fek,_ Stonewall, I've known you longer than any of the other guys. We've been through...more than any of them." He took a breath to steady his voice and maybe calm the trembling in his hands, the kind he got when he really, really wanted to punch someone.

"I know," Stonewall said quietly. "You're right, Trax. We've been through a lot. More than most."

Traxis looked away again. "But it doesn't change anything."

"Not this." Stonewall was silent for a few moments, then rubbed his forehead. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" Traxis crossed his arms before his chest and glared full-throttle at the other man. "For lying to me – to all of us – for almost a fekking  _year_? For asking us to watch your back, and  _her_ back, without doing the same?"

"I'm always there for you," Stonewall shot back. " _All_  of you. All the time. Say the word, and I'm there."

"If you want trust, you have to give it," Traxis growled. "But you  _don't_  trust us. You never have.  _Fek_ , we had to basically confront you about your relationship with the general, remember? You should have just told us, Stonewall."

Stonewall's shoulders fell a little more. "I was too different. I still am. I didn't think I could lead you if you thought I was too different."

"Exactly." Traxis took a shaking breath, and dug his nails in his arm hard enough to draw blood. "This affects all of us, but you made the call on your own because you didn't effing trust us. But we would have understood. Even me."

Neither spoke for a moment, then Traxis glanced over at his captain. His chin was down, his eyes were lidded.  _Fek_. He looked like he'd been kicked in the gut by a fragging ronto. Repeatedly.

And Traxis was, at his core, a kriffing soft touch. Not with everyone, of course. Just with those he loved.  _Ah, hell._ "You were right."

Stonewall looked up, brow furrowed, but he was silent. Traxis sighed and uncrossed his arms. "You're my  _vod,_ Stonewall. You always will be. I didn't mean it when I said otherwise. I was just trying to piss you off."

It was slow to come, but at last a faint, half-smile tugged at Stonewall's mouth. " _Di'kut_."

"Back at you."

The half-smile broadened to full, and despite himself, despite everything, Traxis relished the sight. His posture more at ease, Stonewall leaned against the railing and regarded the moons. High-level clouds still rushed past them, creating a wavering, pale film across all three. Higher in the sky now, the misshapen moon seemed smaller and farther away than the others.

He seemed to consider something, then looked back at Traxis, worry etched on his face again. "Please don't tell them."

Traxis scowled, but it was half-hearted. Though he'd go down fighting, he knew he'd already lost the battle. "Why?"

"Because it's my secret to tell, not yours. Because there's too much we  _don't_ know. And because if even one wrong person finds out," Stonewall frowned, but it was a more severe expression than Traxis had ever seen, "a lot of  _osik_ will come down on Kali."

Kalinda. Of-kriffing-course. Stonewall's galaxy began and ended with her, and sometimes, when he was tired or hurt or angry, and didn't care what thoughts he allowed to surface, Traxis was jealous.

It was fleeting, though, because  _fek_ , that woman loved the hell out of Stonewall, and he her. For all his hard- _shebs_  cynicism, Traxis was glad to know Stonewall had someone like that. Kalinda was a good woman, too, Jedi or not, and Traxis was self-aware enough to feel shame for his jealous feelings, which would do none of them any good, nor change a karking thing. But they existed, anyway.

Stonewall was normally a pretty easy-going guy. He was an officer, to be sure, but he rarely threw his weight around, and he never made his men do something he wouldn't. But if Kalinda was involved, Stonewall would brook no argument, allow no compromise. When it came to her, as far as the captain was concerned, it was all or nothing.

A man of conviction. Trax had always liked that about him.

So he nodded once. "Alright, Stonewall. I won't tell them."

"Promise me."

The words were sharp, almost dark, and they caught Traxis by surprise. More so, when coupled with the captain's grip on his arm and eyes fixed on his. "Promise me, Traxis," Stonewall said, voice soft and deadly serious. "Swear it."

Traxis held his gaze. "You have my word, Stonewall. Your secret is safe with me." He hesitated, then pressed his hand against Stonewall's chest, above the place his heart lived. "I swear it."

Stonewall tensed, eyes flickering to Trax's hand. Slowly, Traxis withdrew it and rested it back on the railing. "Sorry. Little too much whiskey and not enough dinner."

"It's alright." Stonewall leaned against the railing, his body close but not touching. "Thank you."

 _Anything. Always. Just say the word._ Traxis shrugged and looked at the moons, high and far away, and obscured by clouds. "Sure,  _vod."_

* * *

Next time: Present-day, on Kamino.


	6. Chapter Five

Warning: This chapter is rated "M," as it is rather graphic and intense. No sex, gore or violence, just unpleasantness. Proceed with caution.

Lyrics: ["Transatlanticism," by Death Cab For Cutie, on  _Transatlanticism_.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hnicZDvKyzU&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp&index=6)

* * *

**Chapter Five**

_The rhythm of my footsteps crossing flatlands to your door,_

_Has been silenced forevermore._

_And the distance is quite simply much to far for me to row;_

_It seems farther than ever before._

_I need you so much closer._

_Present day..._

"Wake up,  _vod_."

Milo opened his eyes and blinked in the dim light of the transport. "Whassat?"

Beneath his cheek, Stonewall chuckled; he felt the captain's shoulder shift with the slight movement of his body. "We've come out of hyperspace," Stonewall said as Milo sat up. "It's been long enough; I think we've arrived."

Sure enough, the transport's sublight engines were thrumming hard enough to rattle the deck-plates, indicating that the vessel was dropping through atmosphere. Milo and Stonewall exchanged glances, and judging by the captain's grim expression, Milo thought they were each equally unhappy to be here.

Kriff, his shoulders ached from having his hands bound behind his back, and he  _really_ needed to use the 'fresher; two unnamed clone guards had taken them to the transport's cramped 'fresher a few hours ago, but apparently the few swallows of water he'd had in the interim had moved right through him. If he'd had his armor, it wouldn't have been an issue. Clone kits were outfitted for  _every_ contingency, after all.

In an effort to distract himself, Milo twisted his back, savoring the slight  _pop_  of joints, then glanced at the captain. "Did you sleep at all, sir?"

Stonewall sighed. "No 'sir,' Milo. I'm pretty sure I've been decommissioned."

"Alright." Milo wriggled out his legs, which felt numb from being seated for so long. "But did you sleep any?"

The other clone shrugged as best he could with his hands cuffed and that weird collar around his neck. "A little. Off and on."

Milo studied his captain. Former captain.  _Whatever._ "Did you try to," he glanced around and dropped his voice to a whisper, "use  _it_ again?"

 _That_ had been one heck of a revealing conversation, in more ways than one. Honestly, the suddenly Force-sensitive thing didn't bother Milo quite as much as it should have. Stonewall loved a Jedi, and she loved him. Maybe shared Force-abilities came with the territory. Who knew, really?

What didn't sit well with Milo was the fact that Stonewall hadn't told anyone else about something so momentous, something that affected the entire squad. It...well, it kind of hurt, though he had no desire to reveal such a thing, especially not now. Very likely, if that collar was any indication, whatever was about to happen to his captain – former captain – would be very unpleasant, and Milo had no wish to add his own jawboning to the mix.

Instead, he'd gotten Stonewall to talk about using a lightsaber and speaking to the general through the Force, which was apparently what he'd been doing the last time the collar had shocked him.

Stonewall gave him a look that Milo recognized as part frustration, part affection. "I think they know, Mi. You don't have to whisper."

"Sorry, sir. Force of habit." Milo winced. "I mean: sorry,  _Stonewall_."

There was a pause, then, to Milo's astonishment, Stonewall snickered. "Good one,  _vod."_

"Good...? Oh." A grin crept to Milo's face as he realized his unwitting joke.  _Force of habit._ "Yeah. Crest would've liked that one."

The mention of their bald brother sobered the mood pretty quick, and neither spoke for a little while as the transport dropped through atmo. Milo spent the time trying  _not_ to think of certain things: what his  _vode_ were doing, back on Corrie; what sort of mess he and Stonewall were about to walk into, and whether or not they'd walk out; the fact that now he really,  _really_ had to piss.

The vibration increased, indicating that the vessel was landing. Sure enough, a few minutes later the vibrating stopped, and the  _hiss_ of hydraulics sounded as the boarding ramp was lowered. The door to the cockpit slid open, and Stonewall tensed beside Milo as two unfamiliar, armored clones stepped inside. Without a word, they pulled the two bound clones to their feet and ushered them out the door.

Outside, a storm raged. At the threshold of the ship, Milo only caught the edges of it, but the sound of rain drumming on duracrete was one from his earliest memories, and the cool wind that rifled through his hair made him feel like a cadet again. After they exited the ship, it was only a matter of moments before he was soaked through and blinking against the stringing rain. He and Stonewall were brought inside one of the standard, disc-shaped Kaminoan structures, then through a series of doors and scanners, where they were each checked for weapons – again. They'd undergone a similar going-over back on Corrie, but Milo supposed it was protocol to check prisoners upon arrival.

His gut tightened as reality sunk in further.  _Prisoners._

Once they were cleared, they were brought through another series of doors, then down one of the long, white corridors Milo had come to be so familiar with in Tipoca City. Except...

He inhaled deeply, then nodded to himself in confirmation. "This isn't Tipoca City," he muttered to Stonewall, walking beside him. "At least...I don't think so."

Stonewall glanced around, frowning. "What makes you say that?"

"It smells different." At Stonewall's look, he tried to elaborate. "Tipoca City smells...fishier. Brinier. This place...doesn't."

He regretted the words almost the moment they left his mouth, and wondered if he was wrong, or if it made any difference. What did it matter  _where_  they were on Kamino? They were  _on_  Kamino.

But Stonewall inhaled too, then nodded. "You're right, Mi. It does smell different."

"Hey, keep it down, you two," one of the guards said, pressing the muzzle of his blaster into Milo's back.

"Where have you brought us?" Stonewall asked.

"Kamino, you dreg," the other guard growled, nudging his blaster further into Milo's back. "Now shut it and step lively. You've got an appointment, and Creon Dai does not like to be kept waiting."

Milo's gut churned, adding to the pressure against his bladder. That did  _not_ bode well.

He and Stonewall were brought down what felt like klicks of corridors, pure white and gleaming in the manner of Kaminoan architecture. As he'd done many times during his youth, Milo tried to make out the ultraviolet patterns on the walls, but it was futile. Only Kaminoans could see in that spectrum; only the long-necks knew what sort of designs and messages were written on those seemingly blank walls.

At last, after going through several more doors and passages, they reached what Milo first thought was a jail of some kind. It was much smaller than the barracks in Tipoca City, perhaps a hundred meters across, square-shaped, single leveled. Two rows of cells filled the space, each one numbered and softly lit in blue – a welcome change from the glaring white light in most of the Kaminoan areas. Each cell was divided by walls, naturally, though the walls themselves were outfitted with dozens of flattish, oblong slots, illuminated with cool blue lights. The effect was kind of calming, actually, and made the cells – the entire place – look as if it was underwater.

There were ten cells, each one about five square meters, and within some of them was anywhere from one to three clones. Some looked like ancient, old men; one was young, cadet-aged, but for the most part they looked normal. What the kriff were they doing here? And why had he and Stonewall been brought here, too?

Milo watched the other clones watching him, and felt a shiver of unease run down his spine. "What is this place?"

"Your new home," one of the guards at his back said, and the other snickered. Stonewall's jaw got tight and his eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. Milo took a deep breath and tried to focus on ignoring his bladder.

They paused before one of the empty cells. The guard who'd snickered punched in a code on the lock-panel and the pale-blue energy shield dropped. To Milo's relief and joy, the cuffs at his wrists were removed, though the good feeling was banished by the millions of tiny needles pricking his hands and arms as blood rushed back to the areas. A not-so-gentle push against Milo's back alerted him to the fact that he was supposed to step inside, so he did. There wasn't really an alternative, and he had the notion that being back on Kamino had dredged up a lot of his old "follow-orders-without-questioning" habits, ones that General Halcyon had never seemed to care for.

But thinking of her was not helpful right now, so Milo stepped inside without a fuss. Inside, another clone stood with his back pressed to the wall, but his attention was mainly on Stonewall, who moved to follow Milo.

"Nope." Both guards grabbed his arms and pulled the former captain back, causing him to stumble. " _You've_  got an appointment."

Where Stonewall had been as compliant as Milo, now the thought of being separated from his squad-mate seemed to alarm him. Stonewall planted his feet and braced himself against the guards, looking for all the world like he was about to break out of those cuffs, and Milo wondered if he was going to try and use the Force again.

"No," Stonewall said calmly, though his voice resonated with authority. "First, you tell me where we are, and what sort of 'appointment' this is."

"Come on, we haven't got all day," the first guard said, angling his blaster toward the former captain.

But the other guard shook his head. "No, Ward! Scientist Dai said we weren't to stun him, remember?  _Or_  give him a hypo."

Ward made a noise of frustration. "Kriff. Yeah, I remember, Halligan. This fekker's getting on my nerves, though." He paused, then whipped his blaster around and smacked the captain's jaw with the weapon's butt. Hard. Milo winced at the sound of plastoid hitting skin, and Stonewall gave a grunt of pain.

" _You_ are not in any position to give orders any more," Ward said in a dark voice. "You're just another defect. What they effing want with you is beyond me, but it doesn't matter. You're defective, just like every other dreg here. So shut your mouth and do as you're told."

Stonewall's head had dropped with the force of the blow, but now he lifted his eyes and glanced at Milo, who was gratified to see the durasteel in his captain's gaze despite the now-bleeding scrape on his jawline. Stonewall didn't say anything, just straightened slowly, turned, and met Ward's gaze with his own. In his face was nothing less than calm defiance.

Ward shook his head and muttered something. The energy shield sprang back to life, and Stonewall was led away, eyes up, back straight. At the last moment he looked back, at Milo. "It's going to be alright,  _vod,"_ he said in Mando'a, before one of the guards silenced him with another cuff.

Milo stood by the shield and watched, as best he could from this angle, as his brother and former captain was led away. Not until Stonewall was out of sight did Milo feel a stab of true despair, and even then he wasn't sure it'd really sunk in. Blinking hard, he looked around the cell-block, desperate to find something that would bring some sense to all this. _Or, you know, a 'fresher. That would be pretty nice._

"What're  _you_ doing here?"

The other clone in the cell. Slowly, Milo turned and saw the man leaning against the far wall, one hand tucked in the pockets of his fatigues, the other arm behind his back. His eyes flickered over Milo warily, as if any moment the newcomer would explode.

Milo shook his head. "I don't...I don't know." His chest was suddenly very tight, like he was wearing armor that was far too small, and it was difficult to breathe. His vision swam in blue splotches and his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and he stuck out one arm to the nearest wall to stop the room from spinning.

Only to meet the humming energy shield, which sent a pulse of electricity through his body; it was not enough to do any lasting damage, but enough to cause a nasty sting. He yelped and stumbled backwards, landing ungracefully on the floor. For a moment he sat there, fighting to catch his breath and clear his vision, maybe calm the furious lash of his heart, but he had a feeling his efforts were for nothing.

Then another clone was beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, take it easy. It's going to be okay."

Milo nodded but he hardly heard the words of reassurance. His head was thick and his brain felt like it'd swollen inside his skull, like there wasn't enough room for everything that had happened...

Something cold pressed against his forehead, pulling him out of his haze. He glanced up and saw the other clone offering a plasti-bottle of water, one hand outstretched, the other...

Missing. As in not there. As in, this clone only had one hand. No; make that one arm. His right arm held out the bottle, while his left tapered off in a stump, right before the place where his elbow should have been.

Numbly, Milo accepted the bottle and murmured his thanks. He twisted off the top and took a few gulps, then slowly, carefully, raised his eyes to his new cell-mate. His vision had cleared a little, so he could see that, aside from the arm, the other clone appeared to be normal. "Who are you?"

The other fellow smiled, but the expression did not reach his eyes. "I'm Zero. What's your name?"

"Milo." He took another sip of water and looked around again; the cell was sparse, but outfitted with two sets of bunk beds and a 'fresher closet.  _Thank the Force._  He looked back at the one-armed clone again, and realized his head was relatively clear, so he made to stand up. He wobbled a bit, so Zero reached out and helped him to his feet.

Once Milo stood, Zero reached out his hand as if to shake Milo's. But he didn't shake it; he took Milo's hand and examined it, his brow furrowed. This close, Milo could see that Zero was a little older; he had flecks of gray in his hair and lines around his mouth and eyes. After a moment, Zero dropped his hand and gave him that wary look again. "What's wrong with you?"

"Um..." Milo frowned. "I've been told I'm kind of obnoxious and naïve. And I whistle sometimes, when I'm concentrating on something else, like flying." Crest and Trax had been annoyed to no end with the whistling, though the general loved it. "And I really have to pee."

Zero's mouth twitched in a near-smile. "No, I mean, why are you _here?"_

"Where's here?"

"The Dregs." Zero indicated the cell-block with a sweep of his single hand. "Sector Nine, within Timira City. The long-necks' wastebin. The place where all the defects are dissected and studied before they're processed."

 _Processed._ That was a term Milo knew well, one that was almost as bad as  _reconditioned._ Milo's heart rate kicked up another few beats. "So...everyone here is going to be...killed?"

Zero gave that bitter, razor-thin smile once more. "If you're very lucky. Here," he added congenially, "let me show you to the 'fresher."

* * *

_Moments ago..._

"So just shut your mouth and do as you're told."

 _Fek you,_ Stonewall thought, gritting his teeth against the blooming pain in his jaw.  _Fek both of you._ But he refused to give Ward or Halligan the satisfaction of breaking his calm, so he swallowed his curses and stood as straight as possible. As he did, he caught sight of Milo, watching him with wide eyes, and his resolve hardened. He would not break in front of his younger brother. He would not let Milo know how frightened he was, if only to give his  _vod_ one less thing to worry about.

That in mind, he kept quiet as he was led away. But if he didn't return, he would need to say something, anything, because if this was the last time he saw Milo...

 _Don't think like that._ Stonewall turned as best he could and spoke a few harried words of Mando'a, the language more than the words themselves meant to console. Ward struck him with the back of his hand, but he hardly felt the blow as he tried desperately to catch one last glimpse of Milo.

They stepped inside a turbolift at the end of the cell-block, and when the door shut, Stonewall knew he was on his own. Neither of his captors spoke to him, so he took a moment to gather what little of the Force he could. On the journey out here, he'd been able to access the Force a very little bit, enough to soothe away some of the ache in his muscles and keep his calm. While the collar prohibited him from doing anything major, like a Force-push or to contact Kali, he found he could still touch the well of energy within him, almost as if he was setting it aside for safekeeping, for a time later when his access to it would be restored.

So the collar only suppressed the Force; it didn't negate the energy altogether. There was hope.

Stonewall knew he would need it.

The 'lift paused and the former captain was shoved forward, into yet another gleaming corridor like the veritable maze he and Milo had been forced through earlier. He tried to remember each twist and turn, but they all looked the same, and the stress of the last day or so was starting to wear him thin. Perhaps it was wiser to retain his focus toward getting him through whatever this "appointment" would have in store.

At last the other clones stopped before a nondescript, metallic door, polished to a sheen, with a small lock-panel at the side. Neither clone moved for a moment, and Stonewall was able to catch faint ripples of agitation from each of them, centered on whatever was behind that door.

 _Now_ the barves hesitated. Past playing nice with either clone, Stonewall sighed loudly. "Can we get this over with?"

He pitched his voice to a sharp, mocking tone, the one that Traxis favored when the scarred clone felt particularly contrary. Ward swore beneath his breath and Halligan tapped a code into the lock-panel, adding a not-so-gentle push against Stonewall's back to prod him forward.

At first, Stonewall thought he'd been brought to a medbay of some kind. Bright lights hung from the ceiling on stiff, flexible cords, allowing them freedom of movement over the tables. There were half a dozen tables, made of some shiny, silver metal and outfitted with straps and cuffs, and something that looked uncomfortably like an indent where a man's head was supposed to be placed. The room stank of antiseptic and that faint, fishy smell that accompanied all long-necks.

A few Kaminoans stood at edge of the room, turning at the clones' entry. On the screens behind him, Stonewall was startled to see a vid-feed of...

 _The Corrie Guard barracks?_ Sure enough, it was a looped clip of... _him,_ using the Force on the Corrie Guards. The footage was grainy, but it was obvious that he'd done something no clone should be able to do. He watched the Guards tumble away from his hand again and again, and his stomach twisted.

One of the Kaminoans glided toward Stonewall, gray eyes skimming across him with indifference. "Put him on that table," the male long-neck said, gesturing to the nearest one. "Make sure he is secured."

"Yes, sir," Halligan said stiffly. Ward said nothing, and Stonewall caught a stab of revulsion and pure fear from each man as they began to steer him toward the exam table. As they brought him, the overhead light was reflected in the table's mirrored surface, shining bright enough to hurt his eyes, and when he looked away, he spotted one of the Kaminoans readying a tray of medical implements.

Something inside Stonewall snapped. He planted his feet again, desperate to go anywhere but to that  _fekking_  table but too frightened and proud to beg for mercy. Heart racing, calm forgotten, he acted on pure instinct. He ducked his head in an effort to gather what Force energy he could, like drawing a blanket to his chin, hoping, praying that maybe the collar wouldn't–

This shock was worse than before. Pain arced through his body and slammed him to his knees. Sweat prickled across his back, his vision blurred, his blood turned to ice, and his breath came in stuttered gasps.

Momentarily crippled, he went limp, and the long-necks seized the advantage. Stonewall was slung onto the examination table like a sack of muja fruit. Cool, smooth hands grasped his arms and legs, and something sharp scraped along his thigh – they were cutting off his damp fatigues. Groaning, he tried to twist away, but someone much stronger than he held his head while another long-neck slid a metallic strap around his forehead, and he blearily watched two more of the Kaminoans place similar binders at his wrists, elbows, knees and ankles.

Kaminoans were nothing if not efficient. In a matter of seconds he was naked and bound, and utterly helpless. Stonewall tried to take a deep breath, straining his body against the bonds, but could not move without touching something metallic and cold. Panic settled in again, and he twisted and strained against the binders, desperate to get away, but his efforts were unsuccessful. His heart raced so fast he was certain he was going to pass out, but he was deaf to anything but the furious lash of his fear. It was an ingrained fear, one that stemmed from self-preservation, because few clones survived their formative years on Kamino without developing – at the very least – a healthy respect for the objective brutality of the storm-world's denizens.

One of the long-necks murmured something to the male who'd given Ward and Halligan their orders, but he shook his head. "I require untainted samples at this time. Do not administer sedatives of any kind without my express permission."

"Yes, Scientist Dai," the long-neck said, lowering her head in deference.

Through his fog of fear, Stonewall recognized the movement, and figured that the crested, male Kaminoan was the leader of this group; the "Creon Dai" that Ward had mentioned. The observation, though perfunctory, gave him something else to focus on other than his own terror, and allowed him a much-needed moment of relative calm. His heart still raced, but his vision cleared and he was able to take a deep breath and try to get a better look at his surroundings.

Ward and Halligan were gone. From what Stonewall could see, it was just himself and half a dozen long-necks, all of whom eyed him with what he recognized as excitement in their kind. Nictitating membranes flickered over gray eyes, and their slitted nostrils flared as they tried not to breathe too heavily, lest their emotions be known by the others. Most of them were lankier and shorter than the average long-neck, which made Stonewall think they were juveniles.

 _Am I in a fekking student lab?_  The notion made him ill and angry all at once.

Creon Dai stood over Stonewall, who fought for his own calm all over again as he looked into the flat, gray eyes of the male Kaminoan. Of all the Kaminoans in the room, this one appeared to be fully-grown, and there was no eagerness in his stance. Further reining in his fear, Stonewall was able to get a sense of this long-neck's emotions. There was no apathy, nor disdain for the clone subject quivering on the table. There was simply a sort of  _calm,_ but not the sort favored by Jedi. It was more like a feeling of readiness, as if this Kaminoan had a task before him and was set upon completing it.

A draft of cold, recycled air hit Stonewall's bare skin, and he shivered again.

"I want samples from it," Dai said to the juvenile Kaminoan beside him as he picked up a datapad and began entering information. "The full spectrum: blood, urine, fecal matter, saliva, hair follicles, seminal fluid." The juvenile nodded and turned to the tray of instruments that had been brought beside the clone.

Stonewall's heart began to race again. All of that sounded kriffing terrible, but he'd been subjected to similar humiliations in his cadet days on this world. All clones had. There was a number of sarcastic jokes in the ranks about being on "drained and pained duty," which pretty much summed up what he was about to undergo. Unpleasant, to be sure, but nothing he couldn't handle.

So he told himself.

The scent of antiseptic hit him before the cold press of it on his arm, both of which were a prelude to drawing blood. Another long-neck took a pair of tweezers to his head, armpits and pubis, making him wince, though not as much, he knew, as the process of taking any of the  _other_ samples they wanted.

As one of the long-necks approached with an ominously slender instrument, the leader stood beside Stonewall's head, a datapad in his elongated fingers. "Number and rank?"

Something pinched extremely sensitive skin, and Stonewall gritted his teeth. He answered the long-neck if only to think about anything else. "CC-3077. Captain Stonewall. Shadow Squad. Seventh Sky Corps."

More information than requested, but it gave him a tiny bit of comfort to hear the mention of his squad. The pinching increased and he squeezed his eyes shut, working to keep his breathing steady.

"You are Force-sensitive." It was not a question, but Stonewall nodded. "How?"

"I don't...know–" A sharp flare of pain made him gasp and his body jerk in an unconscious effort to get away, but he was held firmly in place by the bonds. Thank the Force, the pinching eased in the next moment, and he groaned in relief.

Creon Dai entered something into his 'pad. "How long have you been able to use the Force?"

"Dunno," he managed after a beat. A flicker of movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he winced as his jaw was wrenched open; something hard scraped against his inner cheek, then he was released.

"Try to estimate."

Stonewall's mind was hazy with pain, but he fought through it for a suitable answer. Nothing he said could be traced to Kali. If anyone thought she'd somehow transferred the Force to him...

No. He would not think of that, either. Stonewall figured his own life was forfeit. All that mattered was keeping his wife and their child safe.

A section of the table beneath him retracted and a draft of air hit his  _shebs,_ neither of which boded well, and Stonewall braced himself against the incoming invasion. Cold. It was cold in a part of his body that should never be effing cold.  _Would it have fekking killed them to run the damn thing under some hot water?_

"Maybe a couple years," he said at last. "I'm not sure."

Creon entered more information into his 'pad. "How did you first realize you could use the Force?"

There had been hints. From what Kali had told him, it was uncommon for all but the closest Jedi to truly speak to one another in the Force; she'd only been able to do so with her father and dearest friend. And him. They'd spoken to each other without words well before he'd been able to really access the Force, and sometimes he wondered if he should have seen it coming.

But he could say none of that, so he managed to fabricate something else. The cold, invasive feeling worsened, and despite the cool temperature of the room, sweat prickled his back and arms. "I could...move stuff. Small stuff. With my,"  _ow, fek,_ "my mind."

At last the instrument slid free and his entire body sagged against the table. By his estimation they were done collecting bits of him; maybe it was over. But that thought was almost as terrifying as being here in the first place, and fear caught in his gut again. If they were through with him, would he be killed, or worse...reconditioned?

Creon Dai peered down at him, though he spoke to one of his lackeys who'd come to his side. "It will be interesting to see exactly what the unit is capable of. Yes?"

"All of the unit's samples have been collected, Scientist."

"Hmm." The elder long-neck entered something on his 'pad, then glanced at the younger. "Very good. We'll begin the hypertests now, so give it a dose of thorazin and take another round of samples. I want to see how its body reacts to the stimulus, despite the suppressive collar. Very often Force-sensitives will instinctively act in self-defense, even if they know their efforts will be futile."

The lackey bowed and moved back to Stonewall, who bit back a groan. He had no kriffing clue what  _thorazin_ was, but everything Creon said made it sound...bad. Sure enough, moments after the hypospray was pressed to his neck, the drug hit his system with the force of a thermal det. Everything was magnified: every sound and smell. Every sensation. All of a sudden his heart thundered faster than it ever had, fear suffusing his limbs, his mind, his very spirit. Sweat ran rivulets down his forehead and back. The first touch of the needle to his veins made him gasp; the pain was worse than he remembered, and he'd had blood drawn countless times. He cried out in earnest when more samples were taken from various orifices, and the resulting sear of pain whitewashed his vision.

It was becoming more than he could bear. Stonewall tasted copper where he'd bitten his tongue in a useless attempt to keep from shouting, though he knew it didn't matter. The long-necks didn't care about stoicism or bravery. They didn't care if he suffered silently, cursed them to the Nine Hells, or bawled his kriffing eyes out. All they wanted was data.

More pain. Different than before, though it all blended together and clawed at his control, shredding any sense of calm. His breath came in short bursts and he couldn't think, couldn't feel anything but  _hurt._  His heart was going to burst out of his ribcage and his body was slick with sweat and shuddering.  _I can't do this..._

It was too much. Desperate for relief, he tried to think of something else, anything other than the ravaging pain. Dark eyes meeting his, a wry smile following; they allowed him to take a deep breath.  _I love you._ A head resting on his shoulder as his fingers wove through a sea of dark hair, unraveling a careful braid; another calming breath.  _Wherever you go, whatever happens, I will find you._  Small comforts in the wake of the pain, but he welcomed any relief.

Words filtered through his foggy brain. "...stronger dose...thorazin."

Then the pain increased again, as if Stonewall was being ripped apart. Pain pushed away all other things, and it was too much...

A final breath, then the void closed around him, black and soft and welcoming.

* * *

_Approximately one month ago..._

Damp and freshly showered, Stonewall set down his comm and tugged on a pair of sleep-pants and shirt, then made his way from his and Kali's bedroom to the common area of the suite that Shadow Squad shared on Coraux. He'd been around the galaxy enough to know that this villa was modest by most politicians' standards, but for a man who'd spent his life in utilitarian barracks, the suite was the height of luxury. It was a nice change. Add to that a successful mission, nearly over, and Stonewall thought he would have many pleasant memories of this world.

Soft music filtered to him, accompanied by female singing, and he paused in the doorway, watching as Kali moved about the kitchen, singing along with the radio. The villa's back door was open, facing the ocean, allowing entry to a few, salt-tinged night breezes that fluttered her sleeveless tunic. Her remade braid was damp and like him, she was barefoot.

She was preparing a pot of tea; he watched her squeeze the tea bag before setting it in the nearest wastebin, pour, then lift the cup to her lips and blow across the rim. As she did, her eyes fell on him and she smiled, a hint of mischief in the expression. "Hello, there. Nice to see you."

He smiled back. "Yeah, it's been ages, hasn't it?"

She laughed and turned down the radio with a wave of her hand. "Tea?"

"Sure." He inhaled but couldn't discern the scents that greeted him. "What kind?"

"Lipana and honey." Kali took a careful sip from her ceramic mug and sighed, squeezing her eyes shut in exaggerated pleasure. "It's delicious."

"Sounds it. Thanks."

As she reached for another mug, he stepped into the kitchen and leaned against the counter, out of her way but still nearby. "I comm'd Weave. They got some dinner, and are exploring the boardwalk."

"How drunk was he?"

"Leaning toward 'very,'" Stonewall chuckled. "Don't worry; I told him to call if they need a ride back," he added at her look. "But they've earned some fun."

"That they have. Besides, it's my own fault for giving Weave all those 'discretionary funds.'"

"I know they appreciate it."

Kali smiled as she handed him a steaming mug. "Appreciation goes both ways."

As she'd done, he blew across the tea's dark surface, though the action was habitual, as there was no way a single breath would cool the drink. He took a tentative sip and savored the warm, flowery taste, then nodded in satisfaction. Generally he was a caf man, but this stuff was pretty good.

"What do you think?"

"I like it. It's very," he took another careful taste, "sweet. But not sugary sweet. Sort of...softer."

"That's the honey." She turned his wrist to get a look at his chrono. "Should we wait up for the guys?"

He nodded again. Kali switched off the kitchen lights and they slipped into the adjacent common area; he took a seat on one of the large, round, padded chairs. As he flicked on the vid-screen, Kali nestled beside him, tucking her knees up and leaning her head on his shoulder while he skimmed through the various channels before settling on the latest bolo-ball scores.

He wondered if she'd object, but she seemed content to watch as well. Neither spoke for a little while as they sipped their tea and watched the recap of the plays that had assured Eltair their place in the finals.

"You like Eltair, right?" she asked suddenly. Her voice had that hazy quality it got when she was nodding off.

By now, the tea had cooled enough to savor, so he took a long swallow and nodded. "Yeah. Eltair's really got it tied up this year, I think. The only other team even close is Dremm. We won't know until the game next week, though."

"That's nice..."

The words faded. He glanced down and saw that she'd fallen asleep against his shoulder, the mug of tea almost drained, but tipping enough to spill into his lap, so he used the Force to lift it gently from her grasp and set it upon one the caf-table before them. She was so warm against him, and the steady rise and fall of her chest was one of the most beautiful things he would ever see. Her breathing had slowed and her jaw was slack, but it was another brush with the Force that told him she was truly asleep.

A deeper inquiry assured him that the overwhelming happiness he'd sensed from her before, during the conception, had faded into a kind of awed contentment. A few threads of sorrow still wove through her Force-presence, but they, too, had faded; he knew she'd mourn Obi-Wan for some time, but there was so much to look forward to, now. More than he'd ever believed possible, but as much as, he now acknowledged, he'd ever wanted. It was not a dream. No dream could compare to the shared, terrified joy that permeated his and Kali's Force-presences.

He flicked off the vid-screen with a wave of his hand, the gesture so casual that he hardly realized he'd done so until the room was dark. They hadn't turned on any lights; the only illumination was Coraux's rings, painting the beach in varying shades of white and pale gray.

Stonewall looked down at Kali again, savoring the curve of her cheek and the dark fall of her hair over her shoulder. Her usual single plait was nearly undone, reminding him of how distraught she'd looked when he'd found her on the beach, a few hours ago.

It felt longer. So much had changed since then.

There were countless worries to occupy his attention, but he did not want to sully tonight with fears of the future. Maybe their hopes would be met with grief. Maybe not. Right now, what mattered most was curled into his side, snoring softly every few breaths.

Taking care to be gentle, he unraveled the remnants of Kali's braid just to feel the soft strands between his fingers. "No promises," he murmured to his sleeping wife. "Only choices."

_I choose you._

Always.

* * *

A/N: Creon Dai is another OC, found in the  _Eye Of the Storm_ trilogy. Expect a few more OCs of mine to make appearances.


	7. Chapter Six

Lyrics:[ "Hard Time Killing Floor Blues."](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hENJKNmoKdo&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp&index=7) Originally performed by Skip James. The version I've used is by Chris Thomas King, from  _The Roots_. (If this version sounds familiar, that's because it's also on the  _Oh, Brother, Where Art Thou_? soundtrack.)

* * *

**Chapter Six**

_People, if I ever can get up,_

_Off of this old hard killing floor,_

_Lord, I'll never get down this low no more._

_Present day..._

To keep himself from running to the energy-shield every two minutes to see if they were bringing Stonewall back, Milo paced. Honestly, he was pretty tired, but there was no way he could sleep right now, not while the long-necks had Stonewall somewhere, doing Force-knew what to him.

Luckily, Zero didn't seem to care if Milo paced. The elder clone leaned against the wall, back tucked into the cell's corner and watched Milo with bemusement, though he answered all of Milo's questions without hesitation or annoyance.

"But the Kaminoans cull defective clones when they're young, don't they?"

Zero shrugged. "Most of us are culled, that's true. But not all." His face twisted into a grimace, though the expression smoothed away almost immediately. "Apparently a few of us are considered worth studying for prolonged periods, to prevent any 'future mistakes' in the cloning process."

Temporarily distracted, Milo stopped before the other clone. "They told you that?"

Zero flashed him an unlikely, broad smile. "In a sense. I've been around. You'd be amazed at what you pick up when the long-necks think you're unconscious during  _all_  those tests."

The implications behind his words made Milo's skin crawl, and he began to pace again.  _Tests._ Was that what they were doing to Stonewall? Probably so.  _Why else would we be brought here?_

 _No, not_ we _. Just him._ Not for the first time in the last few hours, Milo's stomach knotted. Only Stonewall was supposed to be on Kamino;  _he_  was superfluous. How long would he be kept around before someone realized he wasn't like any of these other clones? He wasn't defective.

This in mind, he looked back at Zero. "How many men are here?"

"It varies. About a dozen, right now. Some are in it for the long haul, like yours truly. Others just pop in and out." Zero emphasized his point by snapping his fingers once.

Milo fought back a shudder at the other clone's casual tone. Kriff, it was like they were talking about the  _shabla_ weather, not men's lives! He took a breath and tried to keep his next words steady. "Is everyone else...er...in the same situation as you are?"

"Nah, we're the full spectrum of deformities. Rime's blind. Den's feet are crooked. There's a new kid who can't speak, but I heard Ward say he wasn't vatted that way; it just happened during a training exercise, so the long-necks set him aside to study. Cobble's...odd. Quiet and mumbly. Apparently he was supposed to be a medic, but he's not so great with blasters. Unfortunately for him, medics need to be able to shoot and stuff, too.

"Sometimes we get fellows with a malfunction with the rapid-aging gene, though there tend to be so many of them, the long-necks like to put them to work in other areas. They're sensible that way." Zero chuckled. "Waste not, right?"

Milo was silent for a moment, absorbing all he'd heard as he surveyed the cells beyond his with new interest. It was difficult to make out the other clones through the rippling energy-shields, but he could see a few guys if he squinted.

He glanced back at Zero, his eyes automatically falling on his stump."You were...vatted that way?"

In retrospect, it was an incredibly rude question, but not much seemed to faze the older clone. "Yep. There was some kind of contaminant in my batch, and every unit had a piece or two missing. Ah, well," he added, casually examining his stubby arm, "win some, lose some, I guess."

He gestured to Milo with his stump. "Looks like the long-necks figured it all out by the time your batch came about. Kind of weird, actually. Having such a splendid specimen around, I mean. You're gonna give me one hell of an inferiority complex."

Milo flushed. "I'm sorry, Zero. I shouldn't have asked it like that. I'm a real shiny, sometimes."

"Nah, I  _am_  defective," Zero replied easily. "No shame in it; it's not like I would have chosen to be defective if I'd been given an option. But I wasn't. So why pretend otherwise?"

"I guess there's no reason to."

Zero nodded, then leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "Besides, if you're only in The Dregs because someone didn't do the right flimsi-work, I reckon it's only a matter of time before you're processed. It's more efficient than doing  _more_ flimsi-work to correct an error."

No response came to his mind, so Milo looked outside the cell again. How many of these clones had ever been outside this area, let alone off-planet? Had any of them gotten to swim in an ocean that was warm as bathwater, bluer than a Qiilluran daywing, and smooth as glass? Trekked through klicks and klicks of mud and briars for a few nodes of data? Eaten homemade roasted gorak and topatoes, prepared by a grateful civvie they'd helped out? Defeated swarms of invisible droids and made alliances with Weequay pirates? Danced on a boardwalk with a pretty girl?

 _I'm not really a shiny, am I?_  The realization settled over him like new armor, and like new armor, it took a few moments of adjustment to insure a proper fit.

"Someone's coming."

Zero's murmur caught his attention; the older clone had approached silently to stand at Milo's side. When Milo glanced outside the cell, he saw Ward and Halligan leading a familiar clone, and his stomach twisted in an odd mixture of relief, fear and anger. "What did they do to him?"

Zero made a noncommittal noise and nudged Milo's shoulder with his stub. "Step back. It makes 'em nervous when we crowd the shield, and when Ward gets nervous, guys get stunned."

Both clones drew back to the far wall, though Milo trembled with nerves as the two guards approached. Stonewall was slung between them, hands bound behind his back, with each man grabbing beneath his arms in order to keep him moving. As far as Milo could see he was able to walk, but his steps wobbled like he was drunk.

The trio paused before the cell. While Halligan entered the lock-code, Ward's T-visor surveyed the cell's inhabitants. "No funny business, alright, Zero?"

"Wouldn't dream of it, Ward," Zero replied brightly.

Ward muttered under his breath. When the energy-shield dropped, the guards dragged Stonewall a few steps in, undid the cuffs and slung his body to the floor before retreating as quickly as they'd come. The moment the shield was back in place, Milo rushed to Stonewall's side, his heart in his throat.

At first glance, the damage wasn't too bad. There were only a few physical marks – that he could see – and the fatigues Stonewall wore were clean, though they were not the ones he'd had on when they'd arrived. Bruises formed at his wrists, elbows and ankles, and there was an abrasion on his forehead; the Force-suppressing collar still clung to his neck, blinking crimson in the watery blue light of the cell. His breathing was shallow, but steady, and his pulse seemed a little fast, though not dangerously so.

But his skin was too warm and he lay on the hard floor, unmoving.

Milo would never, ever have wished this place on anyone else, but he sorely missed Weave's knowledge and medic-calm right now. "Stonewall," he said, turning the former captain onto his side. " _Vod_ , can you hear me?"

In response, Stonewall's brows furrowed and he gave a pained groan, along with a noise that sounded like the name of a certain Jedi.

Milo glanced over at Zero, who still stood at the rear of the cell, watching the goings-on with an unreadable expression. "Help me get him onto a bunk."

The older clone hesitated, then came forward. He only had one arm, but it was enough; within a few moments they positioned Stonewall on the nearest bunk. Aside from a 'fresher closet, each cell had a miniature conservator, equipped with bottles of water and a few ration-bars that were apparently replenished when the clones participated in daily exercises. The moment Stonewall was settled, Milo grabbed another bottle of water and pressed it to the former captain's forehead, hoping to offer some relief. Stonewall groaned again, and his eyelids wriggled like he was trying to open his eyes.

"Come on, sir," Milo said, moving the cold bottle to Stonewall's cheek, where the wound from Ward's blaster-butt had scabbed over. "Wake up, okay? Wake up,  _vod."_

At last, at long last, Stonewall's eyes cracked open. "Mi...?"

Relief, pure and sweet and absolute, rushed though Milo, and he couldn't stop himself from gripping his brother's forearm. "Yeah, it's me. Are you in pain?"

"Nah..." Stonewall trailed off, wincing, and Milo released his arm. "Maybe a little," the former captain amended. His voice was hoarse and croaky, and exhaustion was written in the dark crescents under his eyes. "And thirsty," he added, eyes falling on the bottle in Milo's hand.

Milo twisted off the cap and offered Stonewall the water, though it took a few moments to maneuver both Stonewall and the bottle so water wouldn't spill everywhere. Once he'd drunk a bit, Stonewall leaned back into the regulation-sized pillow and took a deep breath. "Thanks, Mi."

"Sure." Milo set the bottle aside and studied his former captain. He wanted to ask...well, a lot, but he thought it was better to let Stonewall rest for now. But natural curiosity would not be banished so easily. "What did they do to you?"

Light-brown eyes, same as his, opened and fell upon him. "D and P duty. Plus..." Stonewall shook his head. "Other stuff."

"Other...?"

Stonewall was quiet for a moment. "The long-necks interrogated me, Mi."

"Oh." Of course they would have interrogated him. He felt stupid all over again for bringing it up when Stonewall probably wanted nothing more than to forget. With a sigh, Milo glanced at Zero, who'd remained in his corner and was watching the two clones with what Milo could only identify now as confusion.

"Do you want to meet our cell-mate?" he asked his former captain. Stonewall's eyes flickered to the side, and he nodded, so Milo waved Zero over. The older clone hesitated, then made his way to the bunk, eying Stonewall curiously. "Stonewall, this is Zero. Zero, this is Stonewall. He's my captain." Milo sighed. "Well, former captain. No matter what, though, he's my brother."

Zero nodded once, but it was the sort of gesture a clone made when he was taking pains to be polite. "Nice to meet you."

"You too." Stonewall's eyes flickered over Zero's stump, but he made no comment. Instead, he looked back at Milo. "Those  _chakaare_  didn't rough you up, did they? Are you alright?"

Despite his worries, Milo offered a comforting smile, hoping to ease any concerns that his  _vod_ may have had for him. "Me? Yeah, I'm good. Not a hundred-percent. More like eighty. Or seventy-three. Ish." He decided to change the subject. "Zero's been giving me intel."

"I've been telling Milo all about The Dregs," Zero supplied, shoving his hand in his pocket and rocking on his heels. "Charming place filled with fascinating specimens. I'm sure you two'll fit right in."

* * *

_Meanwhile..._

Creon Dai kept his words calm as he watched the flickering, hooded figure at his office's holoproj. "The unit's midichlorian count is...significant. Not as high as a Jedi's, but well above that of any other Fett clone."

"How did a  _clone_  become Force-sensitive? Will it...spread to the others?"

"Unknown. There are no previous records of Force-abilities appearing in any of the other units, so it may simply be an anomaly–"

There was a sneer in Lord Tyranus' normally polished voice. "Do  _not_  attempt to patronize me, Dai. I want  _answers_ , not scientific prattle."

A flare of annoyance moved through the Kaminoan, but he held the emotion back. Creon considered his next words, his mind racing to fill the possibilities. "Perhaps an autopsy would reveal more of how this particular unit became Force-sensitive, and whether it is something that can be transmitted to the others. Once the unit was unconscious, I performed several scans on his brain, but a closer look at the tissue might provide more concrete answers."

The Jedi was silent a moment, then shook his head slowly. "No. For now, the clone is more valuable alive – assuming it is as obedient as it should be. I want to know how extensive its abilities are. You will be provided with detailed instructions; apply those methods to the clone and report the results. In the meantime, all clone units should be tested, in order to learn if this anomaly will reappear."

"Very well." Creon paused, then leaned forward a fraction of an inch. Had he been addressing another Kaminoan, the movement would have revealed how strongly he felt about his next words, thus detracting from his credibility. The pause was minute, but laying himself so bare was unsettling. "Have you considered my latest request?"

"Do not worry, Scientist Dai," Lord Tyranus replied smoothly. "Your research proposal has garnered the attention of notable parties. If your theories on the nanogene droids are correct and the clone unit proves useful to me, you will  _not_  be disappointed."

The transmission died, leaving the small office in near-darkness. Moments later, the "new message" alert on Creon's personal workstation glowed with an incoming transmission. He activated the screen and skimmed over the instructions, noting that the source was – as always – anonymous. How Lord Tyranus had even become aware of one Force-sensitive clone out of approximately three million was a mystery; Creon had no knowledge of the Jedi's plan for the clone, and he didn't care.

Included in the transmission was a series of orders to be issued through the web of Kaminoan administration, their origins muddled beyond belief of even the most seasoned bureaucrat. All Creon had to do was transmit them to the central clone command at Tipoca City, from a Kaminoan station, and they would go through unquestioned. A few swipes of his fingertips, and it was done.

But he didn't care about that, either. The credits he'd already received to handle this "anomaly" would bolster his personal projects, the ones that the administrators were unwilling to consider viable.

Their loss.

* * *

_Later, and elsewhere..._

"Rex!"

The captain froze mid-stride and swore inwardly.  _Kriff._ Perhaps two inches from his hand was his office-door on the  _Resolute._ He'd almost made it.

_Almost._

He turned and greeted the ARC trooper jogging toward him; thankfully, Fives was alone. "Yes?"

Fives reached him and casually leaned a hand against the office door, resting the other on his hip and regarding Rex with a raised brow. "You busy?"

"Actually, I have–"

"Because I really need your advice. Brother-to-brother."

Rex's eyes darted over Fives' pauldron, down the corridor. Was that a flash of blue and white? "Look, any other time, I'd be happy to, but as it happens, I've really got to file this report–"

But Fives cut him off with a slightly pleading look as he leaned closer, dropping his voice. "Look, it's kind of urgent. And personal." He glanced around, then whispered, "Uh...I've got  _female_ trouble, if you know what I mean."

Despite himself, Rex chuckled. "You always have female trouble. Did Marliss find your holo collection again?"

"Much worse." Fives grimaced. "The thing is, you and Bren have such a great thing going, and I think – I can't believe I'm about to say this – I need to know how you do it. Really romance a girl, I mean."

Of all the things Fives could have said, Rex was truly stunned by this. "You need...? Fives, what the  _fek_ are you on about?"

Movement in his peripheral vision caught his eye, but Fives grabbed his arm, drawing the captain's gaze. "I know, I know, a talented, handsome, galaxy-class, ARC trooper like myself should be able to keep his own lady satisfied, but kriff it all if I just need a little help in this one particular area – NOW!"

"What the–"

Rex was cut off as two pairs of hands grabbed his arms, pinning them to his side, while a third pair stabbed a needle into his karking neck. He winced as blood was extracted, and the moment they let him go, he rounded on the four traitors.

Coric, Kix and Jesse – and Fives – met his glare head-on, and if he'd not been so incredibly ticked off with his  _vode,_ he would have been proud at their mettle. "What. The.  _Fek?"_

Coric held up a vial of his blood. "You were the last one."

"The deadline is in an  _hour,"_ Kix added with his own glare. "We  _told_ you it would be quick. We gave you lots of time to overcome your," Rex arched his brow and Kix sighed, "your  _thing_  about needles."

"I don't have a  _thing_ about needles," Rex muttered.

Coric and Kix exchanged glances but said nothing. Fives smirked.

Rex rolled his eyes, then cast a dark look between Jesse and Fives, the former of whom had the decency to look chagrined. "They're medics, at least," Rex said. "They have an excuse. What about you two?"

Jesse shook his head. "Kix asked me to help. And you have to admit, you kind of brought it on yourself when you stormed out of the medbay yesterday."

"I told you, I had a very important meeting with General Skywalker."

"I don't think arguing over bolo-ball scores counts as a meeting," Coric muttered.

Rex rubbed his forehead, then looked at Fives, again leaning against the door to the refuge of Rex's office. "And you?"

The ARC trooper shrugged. "I was bored."

"Well, it doesn't matter now," Kix broke in, tucking the vial into the safety of his belt-pouch. "Torrent Company's all sampled; I doubt they'll find any trace of contaminants in our blood, but I suppose it's better to be safe than sorry. I'll get everything sent off to Kamino, and hopefully we'll stop getting those angry 'alert' messages."

He added a knowing look at Rex, who scowled, but didn't push the issue. Coric slapped his back, then indicated the direction of the mess hall. "The good news is, standard procedure after having a blood sample taken is to get a snack, to keep your blood sugar balanced."

Fives' eyes lit up. "I could  _definitely_ go for something sweet."

Rex regarded his men, though all of his annoyance had fled. It was impossible for him to be too angry with them for long, and besides, he knew Brenna would get a kick out of the story later on. So he nodded, adding a wry, half-smile. "Me too. Let's go."

"What about your filing?" Fives said, nudging his armored side as the five clones began to make their way down the  _Resolute's_ corridor. Rex rolled his eyes and lightly punched his brother on the arm.

"Do they really think our blood could be contaminated?" Jesse asked as they walked. "Isn't that the sort of thing the long-necks should have figured out by now?"

Kix considered. "Might just be a new procedure."

"They've never done anything like this, though," Coric replied, frowning in consideration. "Even before the Wars."

" _Obviously_ , it's just a ruse to count the good captain's midichlorians," Fives said, though he yelped a moment later as Rex mock-swung at him. "Hey, it was a kriffing joke! Fek, you're touchy today."

"I wonder why?" Rex replied. "Maybe it has something to do with the fact that my own  _vode_ plotted an ambush to steal my kriffing blood."

Fives chuckled and clapped his back. "Hey, it was for a good cause."

* * *

A/N: If you went "huh?" at the mentions of Brenna and Marliss, don't worry. You're not crazy; they're OCs from my Captain Rex duology:  _The Fighting Kind_  and  _Worth Fighting For_. If you like clone/OC romances, check 'em out on my FFN page. :)

On a similar note, in my head-canon, Fives LIVES. Dammit. [cries]

Zero's "waste not" comment is a nod to the lovely and talented  _spikala_ 's fic of the same name. She's done more with Kamino than anyone, and it's all incredible. ;)

Next time: back to Corrie!


	8. Chapter Seven

A/N: This chapter references events that take place in the fics,  _What Remains,_ and _Untouchable._

Lyrics: ["(Still A) Weirdo," by KT Tunstall, on  _Tiger Suit_.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TUv9AMB9cz8&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp&index=8)

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

_Now I know, I took for granted,_

_That things would always go the way I wanted._

_I was going to be a treetop,  
A sea, a boat, a rock of ages._

_I don't always get it right._   
_I see it in a different kind of light._

_Meanwhile..._

"Mind telling us what's really going on, General?"

Still keeping her hands on the airspeeder's steering yoke, Kalinda looked between the three men who'd essentially signed their own arrest warrants to follow her to Kamino. To an outsider, three identical pairs of eyes regarded her; three men with the same facial structure, the same blood. Alike in every way.

Luckily, Kali knew better.

Aside from their different hairstyles – or, in Crest's case, lack thereof – the remaining members of Shadow Squad were unique, and while she loved Stonewall and wanted to share her life with him, she loved each of these men in another way. Crest could always make her laugh, always knew how to keep everyone smiling, even if sometimes he went too far; Weave's steadfast care for each member of Shadow Squad had kept them all alive at one time or another, and his brilliant mind never failed to surprise her; Traxis, fiercely loyal, aggressively vigilant, and relentless in his quest to ensure everyone had the means to protect themselves. Though he was absent, Milo's unflagging optimism and sweet nature never failed to show her the brighter side of even the darkest situation.

They were good soldiers and better men, and Kali hated letting them down. Right now, she didn't need the Force to tell her they were upset with her, borderline angry, and it had nothing to do with the Corrie Guards most assuredly still searching for them. The steam billowing out of the factory's vent concealed their airspeeder and she knew they could not be tracked, now, but it was not safe to have the necessary conversation in the open.

"Not here," she said at last, revving the airspeeder and considering their options. "We're sitting nunas."

Weave and Crest exchanged glances; Traxis' brow creased and he looked outside the window, away from his brothers. He did not look at Kali, though she wished he would. Once she made sure the way was clear, she eased the airspeeder out of the column of steam and maneuvered toward the nearest traffic-lanes, hoping to further lose any potential pursuers. None followed, so she gave a relieved sigh and began to make for the necessary exit that would take them to CoCo Town.

At last the medic nodded and tucked Stonewall's lightsaber – her old one – back in his duffel bag. "Where are we going?"

Kali glanced at him, a smile tugging at her mouth despite everything else. "To see an old friend."

* * *

It had been many years since Kali had set foot in Dex's Diner. By the time she and the guys reached CoCo Town, it was well into the dinner rush and the place was packed. The door hissed open and the scent of greasy sliders assaulted Kali as she and the clones filed inside. A blonde woman in a short, blue dress approached; her eyes roamed over the clone soldiers with interest before landing on Kali.

"Welcome to Dex's! Table for four?"

Kali nodded and the waitress indicated they should follow. She led them past booths of chattering patrons until they reached a large, rounded one in the far corner; it was the only booth free, and Kali was relieved it was out of sight of the windows and door. They'd made it all the way here without any more trouble, but she knew better than to get complacent. No doubt Fox would call the Council and an alert would be issued for what remained of Shadow Squad – herself included.

As everyone took a seat, the waitress activated the menu, the projection appearing from a node affixed to the table's side, then whipped out a stylus from a garter she wore at her upper thigh. "I'm Hermione. You all need a few minutes to look over the menu?"

Kali glanced between the guys. Trax and Weave were studying the holographic menu, while Crest seemed torn between following their lead and admiring Hermione's ample charms, visible over the low-cut neckline of her uniform.

The Jedi nodded and indicated the table. "Let's start off with some caf and water. And would you please tell Dex that Kamala is here to see him?"

Hermione's eye lit up and she gave Kali a knowing wink. "Sure thing, hon. Be right back."

Once she'd gone, the guys all looked at Kali with confusion. "'Kamala?'" Weave said, frowning.

"It's a pseudonym I used to use, a long time ago," Kali explained. "I think Dex should remember."

Beside her, Crest glanced around, twisting his head to take in the diner and its many patrons. The large number of diners and the buzz of conversations gave Dex's a feeling of anonymity, and other than a few sideways glances, no one had paid much attention to the Jedi or the clones. It helped that she'd made them leave their weapons in the speeder, though she figured Trax had a few blades and smaller blasters tucked in his kit. Thank the Force the clone soldiers were becoming a common sight on Coruscant, though Kali wasn't sure what that boded for the planet.

But for now, she chose to be grateful. Kali exhaled and leaned into the padded seat, feeling a little calmer already. Dex's had always been somewhere she felt safe.

She nodded to the menu. "I've got some cash. Order whatever you want."

Crest cleared his throat. "Boss, I think what we'd all like best is a little clarification about the day's madcap adventures. Though, I have to say, those podpoppers look pretty kriffing tasty."

"Fair enough." Taking a moment to gather her calm, Kali took a deep breath. "Stonewall is Force-sensitive."

Clinking plates and diner chatter filled the air around them, but the clones were silent, staring. Crest and Weave wore expressions of shock, while Traxis' face held a kind of annoyed resignation. She considered reaching out through the Force to sense their underlying emotions, then thought better of it. Her energies were probably better spent keeping her own feelings in check. She began to fiddle with the napkin around her flatware and continued.

"It started during all that craziness on Aruna." She felt Crest tense beside her at the mention of that planet, but she continued as if she hadn't noticed. "We're not sure how, or why. All we know is that...when we fell in love – and admitted it – something...broke open inside of  _me_  and changed  _him_ inthis way."

Heat suffused her cheeks at the words; it all sounded so improbable, but truth was stranger than fiction, at least in this case. Memories of her and Stonewall's time on Aruna filled her mind, and her fingers trembled as a sudden swell of loss overtook her, sharp enough to cut her in two.  _He's gone, and he's never coming back..._

 _No. That won't happen. I won't_ let _it happen._

She fought back the ache, fought to hold herself together. Once she was sure her voice wouldn't betray her, she set down the flatware, put her hands in her lap, and continued. "That was about eight months ago. Since then, I've been training him as much as possible. He's not very strong with the Force – nowhere near a Jedi – but he's capable of quite a lot."

Her hand brushed her old saber, which she'd taken back from Weave before they'd entered the diner. It was strange to wear it again, beside her father's, but the weapon was too valuable to leave unguarded in the airspeeder; even without the Adegan crystal that gave life to the energy blade, a Jedi-made lightsaber hilt could earn thousands of creds on the black market.

She couldn't decided if the added weight was a comfort, or another, more tangible reminder of her husband's absence.

"We both decided not to tell you," she added. "At the time, we thought it was for the best. There was, and still is, so much we don't understand about the whole thing." She paused and studied her hands, twining with her robes. There was a charred mark on the hem of her tunic where she'd missed getting struck by one of Fox's men's blaster-bolts, and her skin was itchy with dried sweat. She needed a shower and a change of clothes.

But she'd pretty much broken the terms of her probation the minute she'd used the Force on Podge to get a speeder, not to mention everything that had followed. Kali realized she could probably not go back to the Temple even if she wanted to set foot there again.

She looked back up at the guys, gauging their reactions. Crest's brows had practically hit the place his hairline should've been; Weave was frowning in that thoughtful way of his, idly rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. Traxis' arms were crossed before his chest and his expression was grim. Now she reached out to them through the Force and found a tangle of emotions,  _hurt_ being chiefly among them, along with confusion and sadness. There were also traces of distrust, faint, but enough to cause another swell of grief and regret within her.

"Neither myself or Stone meant to hurt any of you by keeping this secret," she said quietly. "Like I said, we made the decision because we thought it was for the best. But for what it's worth, I'm really sorry."

To her humiliation, an all-too familiar heat pricked her eyes, and she looked down, blinking hard.  _Stupid kriffing hormones. Isn't it a little early for this?_ But she knew it was more than the pregnancy; the stress and fear of the day was catching up, so she reached within herself and drew on her Jedi-training to keep her calm. Later, when she was alone and things were more settled, she could relent. Now, she had to be strong.

"'We?'" She glanced at Traxis, who now regarded her with a faint frown. "You said 'we made the decision.'"

"Yes."

"But that's not what he said when–" The scarred clone snapped his jaw shut, but it was too late.

Weave and Crest looked at him, shock written on their faces. "You knew?" Weave said, leaning forward.

"It happened on Balasi," Kali replied, drawing the others' gazes, though Trax scowled. "You guys – and Milo – were in the Caprin, while me, Trax and Stone went to find Omree. We were ambushed by droids and Stonewall..."

She trailed off at the memory of Stonewall cutting down the droids with her old saber, the one he'd been practicing with for a few months now. Kriff, he was good, and in between her attempts to keep the Iktotchi youngling calm, she'd realized Stone had reached a point with his lightsaber combat where he needed a better teacher than her.

"He used the Force," she finished, shaking away the thoughts. "It was the only way to protect us all. But Traxis saw him."

"And  _you_  didn't tell us, either," Crest said quietly, glancing at the scarred clone. "Kriff, are we that useless,  _vod_?"

Kali's heart stung, and she felt a similar pang from Traxis in the Force; Crest's hurt was plainly written on his normally jovial face. Weave's eyes had fallen to the table, and he, too, seemed at a loss.

"Of-fekking-course not!" Traxis sat up, balling his fists and shooting a glare at Kali, though his words were directed at his brothers. He sighed again, and rubbed his scar. "I'm effing sorry, okay? But it just...wasn't my secret to tell."

Weave was quiet a moment, then glanced at Kali again. "You have no idea  _how_? It's just so...strange."

"It's unheard of," she said, nodding. "But it happened, and we tried to deal with it as best we could."

"So that's why he was taken? Because he's," Crest dropped his voice to a whisper, "Force-sensitive?"

The beginnings of a headache prickled at her scalp, so Kali took a deep, trembling breath to stave off the pain. "I don't know for certain, but it's the most logical assumption. He's not done anything to warrant imprisonment."  _Unless it's against regs to impregnate your general. Probably._ "He seemed to think that was the reason, the last time he contacted me."

The guys frowned in confusion, so she explained the brief contact she'd had with Stonewall before their conversation was cut short. That was perhaps the most worrying aspect; he never would have ended the contact prematurely and not tried to reach her again unless something very bad had happened. She hadn't been able to speak to him again, though she'd managed to find the threads of love that bound them in the Force, which assured her that he was still alive.

"But  _we_ didn't even know," Crest said with a frown. "Who else does?"

Kali shook her head. "No one that would've had him arrested."

"Not even the Council?" Weave asked. "Objectively speaking, they probably have the most interest in a clone developing Force-abilities."

An icy knot formed in Kali's gut at the mention of the Council, but she didn't reply, as Hermione returned with water and caf. "Dex is frying up a new batch of Tapani triangles, but he says he'll be right out."

Kali thanked her and reached for a water, savoring the cool trickle down her throat. The others took cups as well, pouring out caf, adding sugar and cream to suit their tastes. As he stirred his cup, Crest glanced at Kali again. "Makes sense, I guess. The captain's been remarkably capable lately."

She frowned and the bald clone winced. "I didn't mean that to come out quite so...farkled. Stonewall's always capable, but he's been...really on the bolo-ball lately, you know? Faster, stronger, that kind of thing."

"I know what you mean," she said.

Weave sipped his water and shook his head. "But  _how_? I didn't think the Force could be transmitted like...a disease or something."

"I dunno,  _vod;_ foot-in-mouth-disease seems pretty contagious today," Crest broke in. "Right, Trax?" Traxis rolled his eyes and Weave flushed. The sight lifted Kali's spirits, because it signaled that, while the tension between the clones had not dissipated, it had eased a little.

"What I want to know," Traxis said after a beat, "is  _when_  we're going to Kamino to spring him and Mi."

Crest sat up, eyes bright with excitement. "Ditto. If we're going to go AWOL, let's do it one-hundred-kriffing-percent."

"It won't be easy," Weave said, frowning thoughtfully. "After that stunt at the barracks, our escape, plus Crest's limpet-removal  _and_  the mods I made to our gear...we've violated about a dozen regs. I doubt we'll be able to use the  _Wayfarer_  any more, so we'll have to find some other way to get to Kamino." He looked at Kali, and she marveled at how calm he seemed, despite the truth of what he was telling her. "You may be on probation, but by now we're surely wanted men, General, and that makes everything extremely complicated. I don't know how much help we'll be."

"Speak for yourself," Trax said, rolling his eyes. "Who the fek cares about regs anymore? Stonewall and Milo need our help. That's all there is to it."

On a whim, Kali reached for each clone's hands, and clasped them together on the table as best she could. "I never expected to love Stonewall," she told them, looking at each man in turn. "I never thought I'd find anyone I could love like I love your brother. I hoped it, but I never quite believed. But the other thing I never expected, not in a thousand years, was to find men like you, men I love like," she squeezed their hands, "like family."

Not until she said the words did she realize their truth, and she had to smile at the expressions of shock that played across Weave and Crest's faces as they looked between their hands and hers. After a moment, she felt another measure of calm wash over her. She was not alone; she had a family again, odd though they may have been. How strange was the Force, to have brought them all together this way.

Crest found his voice first. "Really, Boss?"

She released their hands to take a sip of water. "Yes, Crest. And just 'Kalinda' or 'Kali,' now, please. I'm not your 'boss' any longer."

"Hmmm. Good point." The bald clone considered something, then gave her a grin. "Careful what you say, Kalinda. Next thing you know, we'll be calling you ' _vod_ ' and not bothering to hide our farts anymore."

Kali rolled her eyes. "You don't hide your farts  _now."_

"Ah, kriff!" Crest threw up his hands in mock-annoyance. "I knew I've been forgetting something..."

Weave and Kali exchanged amused looks, and she was relieved to see that the medic was smiling. Traxis' expression had retreated to a stony mask, though he'd made a gruff noise of acknowledgment to her speech. Calmer now than she'd been all day, Kali reached out to him through the Force, and was startled to find him crackling with anger, though the emotion was leashed tight. She tried to get him to meet her eyes, but he resolutely looked at the menu.

"I thought it was you! Rings and moons, girl, give me a hug!" A broad hand thumped her back, almost knocking the wind out of her, but she felt a grin split her face anyway, and sprang out of her seat to hug the four-armed Besalisk. He smelled of cooking oil and cigarras, but his embrace engulfed her, and was strong enough to lift her off of her feet. For a moment she was seventeen again, and was reminded of the many nights she'd spent sneaking out of the Temple and running all over CoCo Town, very often winding up at Dex's Diner.

Kali hugged him back as tightly as she could. "Hi, Dex. It's been a long time."

"Not so long, by my count," he said, setting her down and winking at her. "I see you brought some...friends." He cast a look at the three clone troopers at her table, and his warm gaze sharpened as they straightened out of habit, as they did whenever they felt they were being inspected.

"Weave, Traxis and Crest," Kali supplied, indicating each man. "Guys, this is my old friend, Dexter Jettster."

"Nice to meet you, sir," Crest said, while Weave and Trax nodded.

If Dex thought it odd that she'd brought clone troopers with her, he said nothing. Instead, he smiled at the clone. Besalisk smiles were a little unsettling, as their mouths were wide and their teeth sharp, but on Dex the expression retained a measure of warmth. "You boys hungry? I just had a six-top change their order at the last minute, so there's a stack of Giju sliders and a pile of protato wedges that need a good home. On the house."

Trax nodded, while Crest rubbed his stomach. "I think we can find a place to store those for you, sir."

"Actually..." Weave's ears reddened but he pushed on. "Do you have something a little less...uh...heavy?"

"It's  _free_  food," Trax broke in. "Just enjoy it for once without effing worrying about what's in it."

Weave frowned at the scarred clone, but Dex gave a rumbling chuckle, his throat-pouch flaring with amusement. "Sure, sure. Got a fresh order of Opee sea killer fillet. I'll grill one up; add a little roonan lemon and some black hole pepper...it'll tilt your galaxy, I promise."

"That sounds great, thank you," Weave said, clearly relieved.

"Plus it means more for you and me,  _vod_ ," Crest replied, nudging Trax's side.

Dex glanced back at Kali. "You still like Shili cheese dogs, right?" He shot Crest a wink. "With extra B'omarr pickles  _and_  tibanna splits to finish. She'd inhale the stuff; I thought she'd turn  _into_  a beebleberry."

"It was too delicious  _not_  to stuff my face," Kali said with a laugh, though the mention of one of her former favorite foods turned her stomach a little. Besides, despite the fact that the guys were hungry, she had not brought them here just to eat. "But I think I'm in the mood for something simple today. Do you have lipana tea?"

She added a slight incline of her head towards the back of the diner, hoping he'd get the hint. Dex considered her, than nodded slowly. "Good question," he said, straightening. "Hermione cleaned the stockroom, so now I can't find a kriffing thing. Help an old codger look around?"

He turned and began to lumber toward the kitchen; Kali, still standing, glanced at her men. "I'll be right back. Save me a few protato wedges, just in case."

"Will do, General," Weave said, though he winced. "I mean...Kalinda."

By now the dinner rush had cleared out a bit, so it was easy to follow Dex to the rear of the diner, where the storeroom was located. It was a relatively tiny space, particularly for a full-grown, four armed Besalisk male, but he moved with his own kind of grace. Kali met him at the door and watched for a moment as he peered through the various shelves, each stuffed with boxes of supplies.

"We do have the tea," he said as she approached. He indicated a small box that he'd already set aside on a crate by the door. "Hermione said she'd bring your troopers their dinner, by the way."

She thanked him, and he plucked an unmarked box from the shelf and sniffed it, then cast her a sideways glance. "I heard about Obi-Wan. It's..." He frowned, and the crest that ran along his skull flattened with sorrow. "A damn shame," he said at last, shaking his head. "He was one of the good ones."

"He was one of the best," Kali replied.

She picked up the tea and studied the label with unseeing eyes. There was so much she needed to do, beginning with filling in her old friend, but suddenly she felt so heavy, like a huge weight had pressed itself upon her chest. The distant clangs and clatters of the kitchen seemed to echo in her ears, and it was hard to take a proper breath.

Kali blinked against her blurring vision. "I still can't believe he's gone."

The Besalisk regarded her with eyes that missed nothing. "How're you holdin' up, kiddo?"

She could not remember the last time someone had called her that. Her face heated, the tears she'd held back before broke free and began to slide down the sides of her nose. Embarrassed at her weakness, yet utterly heartsick, she ducked her head, wishing she could vanish into the floor. Just for a moment. Just until she could pick herself back up.

"I'm sorry," she whispered to no one in particular. Her grip on the box of tea tightened, strong enough to bend the corners.

Dex's embrace was gentle this time. Four strong, slightly greasy arms surrounded her, and his voice was steady. "Never understood how they expected a kid to go through what you did, and not cry every now and again," he said after a moment. "I know that Council of yours is wise and holy and all, but sometimes I wonder if they don't share one portion of common-sense between the lot of them."

Despite herself, Kali laughed, though Dex's words cast a dagger of fear in her heart, for they reminded her of Weave's speculation and her own growing fears. It was surely no coincidence that Stonewall had been taken during her dressing-down, when she was unable to sense his distress until it was too late.

But that would mean...

 _No,_ she thought, wiping at her eyes.  _Mace would've told me if they were going to take him away._ Her former master was many things, but he'd never hesitated to be as blunt with her as he could. Directness was his favored approach; it'd made her life miserable on more than one occasion, but it was, in a strange way, reassuring to know exactly where she stood.

Anyway, it didn't matter so much now  _who_ had given the order to arrest Stonewall; her main concern at the moment was finding a way to free him and Milo. Beyond that, she had a duty to the three men in the diner, who were hopefully eating their weight in protato wedges by now. Thinking of the guys brought her another measure of calm and helped her focus on the tasks directly before of her. She rubbed away the last of her tears and glanced up at Dex, who released her from his embrace.

"May I use your comm? I need to make a few calls," she said as she tried to smooth out the crushed corners on the box of tea.

"I can help you out, but the Order must be pretty hard-up if you can't use their comms," he said wryly.

"I'm not...on friendly terms with the Council right now," she replied. "Or the GAR, for that matter. The same goes for the guys." She gave Dex a knowing look. "It's been one of those days."

"Sounds it." The Besalisk crossed two of his arms, while using one hand to scratch his head, and the other to scratch his  _shebs._ Despite the casual gestures, his gaze on her was canny. "I know that look. You're planning something."

"I'm trying to. But I need some information, first, and I need..." Kali blew out a breath in thought. "Well, let's start with a ship-for-hire. Is Elek still around?"

The Togruta male was a bounty hunter and mutual acquaintance, another friend Kali had made in her adventurous teen years. Dex's crest perked up. "Elek's retired, but he can probably point you in the right direction. I've got his contact info somewhere..." He trailed off and regarded her again. "No Temple, no GAR...where are you and those boys going to sleep tonight, kiddo?"

 _Kriffing hell._ "That's...a good question." She tucked the tea box under her arm and smoothed her hand down her braid, which was, naturally, starting to unravel. "I have some creds; enough for a few night's board somewhere cheap, like in the Factory District."

But Dex's head was shaking, his throat-pouch flaring with annoyance. "Not if I have anything to say about it. Tell you what; a couple years ago, I got a bit of a windfall, so I bought a few apartments in Taung Heights. Figured I'd rent 'em out, make that money back and then some. One's vacant right now. The last tenant left it a little rough around the edges, but it'd be a roof over your head until you get your varactyls in a row."

"That would be wonderful." She offered a slight bow out of long-ingrained habit before digging around her belt for her cred sticks. "I can't pay you much, but–"

Dex waved her creds away. "Don't even think about it, Kali. I'm happy to help an old friend. Besides, you made me a ton of money back in the day, with that music of yours."

She was not too proud to feel relief at his words. Aside from her meager cred supply, she had only one other source of income, but those funds would need to serve another purpose. As they discussed the details, reality sank in further, hard and cold, and Kali realized how utterly dependent she'd been on the Jedi Order. The guys, too; no longer could they easily replace any lost weapons or armor, and she wondered if they truly understood what they'd given up for Stonewall and Milo. Without access to the Temples funds or the GAR's resources, life was going to be a lot more kriffing complicated.

Once she and Dex finished speaking, Kalinda turned back for the diner, box of tea in one hand, and made her way to the table where the clones were happily tearing through their dinner. A steaming mug of water awaited her, along with a small plate piled high with protato wedges.

As she approached, Crest looked up, grinned and gestured to the plate. "Get 'em before Trax does."

The scarred clone glowered, but seemed content to take a bite of his slider, while Weave worked his way through his fillet. Kali smiled at Crest, and took her seat again. After she set a tea bag to steep in the mug, she selected a protato wedge. It was salty and warm, and actually hit the spot.

"So, what's our next move?" Traxis asked.

Chuckling, Crest reached for another slider. "More thrilling heroics, no doubt."

"First things first," Kali said. "Dex has a place we can crash for a few nights, and I need to make a few calls."

Weave nodded. "Oh! I remembered, I have a few shower kits and extra fatigues in my pack, in case anyone wants to clean up."

"Are you suggesting that I stink?" Crest's face was a study in mock-astonishment. "Because that's just plain mean."

Weave set down his glass of water and gave the bald clone a chiding look. "It's not  _all_ about you, Crest." He paused, then allowed a half-smile to cross his face. "Traxis doesn't smell too great, either."

"Yeah? Come over here and say that."

Crest put a hand to his ear. "What's that,  _Trax'ika_? I didn't hear you with your mouth full."

The banter continued, somehow turning into a bolo-ball debate after a few minutes, all of which assured Kali that the clones had worked through their problems, at least for now. Traxis still didn't really look at her, but that was okay. She would talk to him later, after she comm'd everyone, and maybe taken a shower...

"Look, I'm just saying, if Dremm keeps up their streak, Eltair won't have a fardling chance."

Crest snorted. "Yeah, well, Eltair's got heart, which is what counts. Dremm's too corporate."

As they bickered good-naturedly, Kali took a deep breath and allowed her worry to wash through her, releasing it into the Force. She could handle this. She  _would._

One step at a time.


	9. Chapter Eight

Note: Events and characters from the fics  _What Remains_ and  _Untouchable_ are referenced in this chapter.

Lyrics:[ "Home," by Zero 7, from ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5RksdQrqLNs&index=9&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp) _[When It Falls](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5RksdQrqLNs&index=9&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp)._

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

_Wrapped in silent elegance._

_Beautifully broken down,_

_As illusions pass._

_Too late to learn from experience._

_Too late to wonder how to finish first._

_Take me somewhere we can be alone._

_Take me somewhere I can call a home._

_'Cause lately, I've been losing all my own._

_A few minutes earlier..._

The moment the boss –  _kriff, Kalinda_  – was out of sight, Crest glared at Traxis. "Will you cool your jets?"

"What the fek are you talking about?"

"You've been so...harsh to her," Crest replied, frowning. "Kriff, Trax, can't you see she's got a lot on her plate? Can't you stop being a kark for two seconds and act like a decent Human?"

Traxis crossed his arms before his chest and returned the glare, threefold. It was much more impressive coming from his scarred face. "My question still stands."

Crest sighed and leaned back in the padded booth, rubbing his temple. "She poured her heart out to us and you just...grunted. Like a damn Gamorrean. You do remember that she sprang us from what was basically prison, right?"

"I remember." Trax's eyes tightened. "Trust me."

"What the  _shab_  is  _that_  supposed to mean?"

Weave cleared his throat. "Both of you, tone it down. The kits stand out enough as it is, and we're starting to get some funny looks."

Three jaws snapped shut, three hands reached almost in unison for their drinks, and for a few minutes, no one said a word. To Crest, the uneasy quiet between the three men reminded him of the mood right before an enemy air-strike; you just knew that any second, something would explode and blow the whole place to  _osik._ He cast a quick glance around, but none of the other diner patrons seemed to care about the clones any longer.

So he looked back at his  _vode,_ specifically the scarred, grouchy one with a massive chip on his shoulder. "You're pissed at her."

Traxis took a sip of his caf. "So?"

"So? She's on our side,  _vod,_ " Crest replied, frowning. "And we're kind of all each other has right now."

The scarred clone considered the dark depths of his caf, then gave a surprisingly weary sigh. "Funny. I thought you were pissed at me for some  _other_  reason."

It was a clear ruse to change the subject, but Crest decided to play along, in part because he had a feeling he wouldn't get very far by continuing to pry Trax, and in part because, yeah...he was still kind of ticked off. "That's right," he said, sitting up and looking at Weave. "You kept a pretty fardling big secret from your brothers."

"To be fair," Weave broke in, "it seems like it was dumb luck that he found out at all."

A dark look crossed Trax's face but he nodded. "Look, I made a promise. And you both know I keep my word." He grimaced. "Fek, it's a pain in the  _shebs_ sometimes to be like that."

Crest chuckled, but he was still uneasy. Everyone was entitled to his privacy, but the whole suddenly-Force-sensitive situation went a little past "private." Why hadn't Stonewall felt comfortable to share that kind of life-altering thing with his  _vode_?

Well, there was really only one way to find out: ask the man himself. One more reason to spring him and Mi from Kamino.

"I wonder how they're doing," Weave said suddenly, causing the others to look his way. The medic's eyes were distant as he toyed with the condensation on his water glass.

Traxis hands balled into fists again. "I fekking hate this," he growled. "Sitting around,  _waiting._ I know it's all we can do right now, but it feels wrong to be chatting in a diner while our  _vode_ are on a ship to Kamino."

"Hey," Crest put a hand on Trax's shoulder, "I'm one-hundred percent committed to getting Milo and Stonewall back where they belong, and you're not the only guy around here who keeps his word."

"Same here," Weave added, sitting up. "We may not be welcome in the army any longer, but we're still Shadow Squad. We still have each other."

A new voice broke the three clones out of their conversation. "You boys sure look like you're havin' one kriff of a talk." As the waitress spoke, she set down plates of food in front of each man, and Crest's mouth started to water at the sight – and smell – of the Giju sliders. Weave's fillet looked pretty good, too, as did the veritable mountain of fried protato wedges.

Once Hermione had set down a mug of steaming water, likely for the boss' tea, she swept her blue eyes over the clones. "Can I getcha anything else?"

She was pretty, and Crest liked her style, but there was only one woman for him, even though she was a galaxy away in more ways than one. Even so, he was not above a little mild flirting. "Nothing on the menu," he told her, adding a wink for good measure. "But thanks for the offer."

"Sure thing," she replied, grinning. "Just let me know."

With that, she sashayed off, hips swaying. With a sigh, Crest turned back to his dinner, intent on giving it his full attention. Flirting with the blue-eyed waitress reminded him of flirting with another woman, one who was far, far out of his reach. Probably as far away as anyone could be. It was odd, though, as he generally tried not to torture himself by thinking of  _her._ Maybe the boss' mention of Aruna had brought those memories to the surface.

The clones descended on their dinner with a single-minded intensity, and by the time their Jedi returned, Crest decided life looked a lot better with a full stomach.

* * *

_Later..._

From his place behind General Halcyon – Kalinda – Weave glanced around the corridor. More than a few chips marred the tile floor, and the ceiling lights flickered every so often. But the hallway was empty and the trip to Taung Heights from Dex's Diner had been quiet, so he hoped most of the trouble was behind them.

At least for the immediate future.

Crest and Traxis had insisted on doing a recon of the Besalisk's apartment, and while Kalinda didn't seem to think it was necessary, she'd not argued. Both clones were inside now, checking over every nook and cranny, so Weave had elected to keep his former general company.

However, she did not appear to be in a talking mood. Her eyes were closed, her head ducked, her hands curled at her sides, all of which indicated she was trying to use the Force, possibly to contact the captain. Judging by her frown, Weave didn't think she was succeeding.

But there was more to it than that. Weave was most familiar with other clones, but he'd come to read the dark-haired woman fairly well, at least enough to know when something was...off about her. It was not a guess, but rather an assessment made by a medic who knew his patient was hiding something. She'd hardly eaten her dinner, and Kalinda generally had a healthy appetite. And last week, he'd heard her get sick on more than a few mornings, though she'd insisted she was fine...

Since he'd started working so closely with a Human female Jedi, Weave had made it a point to learn what he could about female biology. He wasn't an expert, but he was familiar enough with the basics. However, when a particular thought occurred to him, he shook away the speculation almost at once. Sure it was  _possible_ , but that was the kind of thing he wanted to be sure about before he started asking her too many questions.

 _Shab. If she_ is  _pregnant..._

His chest ached in sympathy for her and Stonewall. He hoped it wasn't true; it would only make things harder for them both, especially if the worst should come to pass. It was an awful thing to think about, but as a medic, he couldn't ignore the reality of any given situation, no matter how grim.

Weave fought back a grimace, lest his emotions reach the Jedi beside him and add to her troubles.

So they waited in silence. But silence was good sometimes, especially with so much weighing on them both that it was hard to know how to even  _begin_  dissecting it all, and he was mentally drained from the day's events. A glance at his chrono told him it'd been just over four hours since Stonewall and Milo were arrested.  _Four hours._ It felt like longer.

Kalinda's head lifted a moment before Crest appeared in the apartment's doorway. "Looks clear," the bald clone said, thumbing toward the interior. "Whoever was here last left a bed, a couch, and a bunch of other stuff, too. Only one of us should have to sleep on the floor."

Weave had a hand-held ionic sterilizer in his kit; he decided to run it over everything he could, just in case the place's previous tenants had not been clean. He was also thankful he'd thought to grab a few extra shower kits while they were back at the Corrie Guard barracks; no doubt everyone would want to wash.

Kalinda thanked Crest and stepped inside. During their recon, Crest and Trax had turned on every light in the place and opened every door, closet and cupboard, so Weave could see that whomever had left here last had done so in a hurry. Judging from the imprints on the beige carpet, it looked as if all the smaller pieces of furniture had been removed, leaving a large couch and armchair in the main room, along with a knocked-over lamp. A small, round dining table and four chairs – one with a broken leg – sat on one end of the main room, opposite the couch. Pieces of flimsi littered the carpet, along with a few small burn-marks, and there was a thin layer of dust over the kitchen counters. When Weave peeked into the single bedroom, he saw a bed, outfitted with a single pillow and sheet, and the air stank of stale cigarras.

Well, this was better than nothing. It wasn't like they could go back to the barracks, anyway. Or the  _Wayfarer._  Weave grimaced at the realization; he'd  _just_  restocked his entire cache of meds, bacta, and other supplies. Now they'd have to make do with what he carried. He and his brothers would have to pool their resources to figure out what they'd have to do without.

Kalinda wasted no time with surveying the small quarters. Once the door was locked, she strode to the couch and activated the small, long-range holocomm that Dex had provided, one that was, according to the Besalisk, untraceable by most authorities. Weave had to wonder what sort of fellow needed a comlink like that, but Kalinda trusted him, so he didn't ask. Given the events of the day, Shadow Squad was, he realized,  _precisely_  who would need an untraceable means of communication.

While the Jedi waited for the link to take hold, Weave urged his brothers toward the table; the three of them took a seat and began going through their respective kits, piling everything together in an organized heap.

Once his supplies were empty, Crest regarded the room with a mixture of interest and disdain. "Is this really how most civvies live?"

"Don't get your sensibilities offended, Baldy," Trax said. He'd taken charge of the ammo, setting it in neat rows by type. "Isn't there some saying about choosy beggars?"

"Something like that," Weave replied, eying the medkits. He wasn't the only one who'd thought to restock at the barracks, thank the Force.  _Not too bad, considering. Not great, but not too bad._ "And Crest, you know a lot of our missions have involved pretty wealthy or influential folks. Maybe you're spoiled."

The bald clone rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to reply, but his jaw snapped shut as their Jedi began to speak.

"Hello, Sita. It's Kali. I know you're probably busy, but I need to speak with you the moment you're able. I'll send my contact details at the end of this message. Thank you."

She shut off the link, took a breath and began to enter another code, sitting straight once more as the holoimager scanned her form. The link caught, but the ensuing melody that played indicated the receiver of the call was busy, so Kalinda cleared her throat in preparation of leaving another message, which sounded almost identical to the first, except that she'd comm'd Ro Arhen, a Jedi that Shadow Squad had worked with several months ago.

A third call was made. By now, Weave and the others had dropped all pretense of not listening, and had turned to give the Jedi their full attention. This call went through. A Togruta male appeared, perhaps edging past his middle years, and greeted Kalinda with uncertainty.

"Kalinda...?"

The Jedi gave a small wave. "Hi, Elek."

Some of the uncertainty faded from the Togruta's face as he smiled back, his graceful montrals bobbing with the movement of his nod. "It's been a long time, Kali."

"Too long," she agreed. "How are you?"

Elek shrugged. "Can't complain. I was able to retire about five years ago, so I've been enjoying life on Glee Anselm like I always wanted." His words were polite, but careful, like he was waiting for the other boot to drop.

As if sensing this, Kalinda cleared her throat and leaned forward. "I'm glad to hear it. I don't want to keep you long, but I had a question, and Dex was kind enough to give me your contact information."

Weave thought the mention of the Besalisk – a mutual acquaintance, by his own reckoning – was meant to set Elek at ease, and it seemed to work. The Togruta nodded for her to continue, so she did. "I need to hire a mercenary. Someone trustworthy, with a fast ship who won't ask too many questions. And," she added, eyes flickering to Weave, Crest and Traxis, "a penchant for adventure. That last one's optional, though."

Elek was silent a moment, then gave a booming laugh that made all the clones start. "My, my...you haven't changed much, have you, Kali?"

Kalinda's cheeks flushed but her voice was light. "Well, there's a few more lines on my face, but otherwise, I'm about the same."

"A trustworthy merc? That's a quite a tall order." The Togruta's eyes gleamed with amusement. "But I think I can help you. Ares Tabora, a former apprentice of mine, is looking for work. He's a bounty-hunter by trade, but has been known to dabble in a variety of fields. Ares is a good sort; calm, capable, clever. Odd sense of humor, but I think you can handle that. And he has a  _very_ nice ship."

Once the relevant information was exchanged, Weave noted that the Togruta seemed a little more at ease; perhaps he'd been worried the Jedi would ask him more, or perhaps he'd found it odd to hear from her after so long.

In any case, Elek regarded Kalinda again, this time with a more speculative gaze. "How are you?"

Kalinda gave him a smile that wouldn't have fooled a youngling. "I'm stellar."

"Ah, that's a terrible question for a Jedi during these times," Elek said with a grimace. "The lot of you are fighting a war, and my old friend is in the type of situation where she needs a blaster-for-hire. I won't ask why," he added, lifting his hands. "The less I know, the better."

"That's probably wise," Kalinda replied. "Thank you for everything, Elek."

The Togruta gave a short bow. "Consider it my pleasure. You've done a few good turns for me, after all."

Weave exchanged glances with Crest; if nothing else, the last few hours had given the clones an interesting glimpse into their former general's colorful past. After a goodbye, Kalinda cut the link and took a deep breath, then glanced up at the clones. "Wish me luck."

"You won't need it," Crest replied with a smile. He'd taken to sorting their rations, along with any other food-items they had. Trax was cleaning his blaster rifle, eyes downcast.

Weave had organized his medical supplies, and had taken to stacking the captain's and Mi's armor a bit more securely in the duffel bags, telling himself his  _vode_ would want their kits intact and not all roughed up from being slung around in a sack. He'd just been setting Stonewall's helmet in place when Kalinda looked up; Weave winced inwardly at the look of pain on her face before she turned her full attention back to the holocomm in her hand.

Again, she sat up straight and tall, looking every bit the proper Jedi despite her mussed braid and the dark circles beneath her eyes. This time, the link caught almost at once, and a Twi'lek male appeared. Leaning in what looked to be a pilot's seat, he seemed a great deal younger than Elek, younger than Kalinda, but he was fully-matured. A long, leather coat splayed out behind him, and his gaze was sharp.

"Ares Tabora?" the Jedi asked.

He nodded once, his brow furrowing as he regarded her, though he said nothing. Kalinda waited a beat, then continued. "My name is Kalinda. I was given your information by Elek Eun. He said you were looking for work."

"You have work for me, I presume?"

"If you'll take it."

The Twi'lek studied her a moment, then nodded once. "Perhaps, if the, ah, price is right."

The clones had all paused to listen to the conversation; the Twi'lek's lilting Ryl accent was not openly hostile – far from it. But even so, the Twi'lek seemed too casual to be genuine. Beside him, Weave caught Traxis glaring at the bounty hunter even though the fellow couldn't see the clones where they sat.

Kalinda, however, seemed unfazed. "I know this is odd," she said, indicating her robes. "It's probably not often you get sought out by a Jedi, but this is sort of a special circumstance."

Tabora shook his head, though a smile quirked his mouth. "That is putting it mildly."

"Are you on Coruscant?" Kalinda asked. The Twi'lek said nothing, so she continued. "Well, I am. If you're able to meet, I'd like to discuss the particulars of this job in person. The sooner the better. I also need to know how fast your ship is."

"A rush job, then," Tabora said easily. "That will be quite costly, I'm afraid. And, forgive me, but the Jedi are not known for their, ah, adequate financial disbursements."

"What the  _fek_  is his problem?" Traxis muttered.

"Money," Weave whispered. "He doesn't think she can pay him."

Trax scowled. "I meant in general."

Again, Weave had to admire Kalinda's reserves of calm. Rather than take offense at anything Tabora said, she simply nodded once. "Of course, I can offer you quite a generous compensation now, plus a much larger fee once the job is completed." She made a graceful motion with her hand. "Will you meet with me? Say, tomorrow morning at Dex's Diner, in CoCo Town?"

The bounty-hunter nodded slowly. "Make it afternoon; I have an appointment to keep in the morning."

When the transmission ended, Kalinda leaned forward, arms resting on her bent knees, eyes downcast, as her whole body seemed to sink into the couch cushions. Weave recognized the posture – and the defeated look in her eyes – as one that often took hold of shinies during their first battles, and he had an urge to set her more at ease. So he stood and gathered up one of the shower-kits from his pack, along with a spare set of fatigues.

"We're going through our supplies; would you like first dibs on the showers?" he asked her, offering the plasti-wrapped packet that contained soap, a disposable razor and other accouterments.

She rubbed her forehead as if she were in pain. "I should wait until Sita and Ro call back – if they call back..."

Stepping closer, Weave knelt beside her and placed the shower-kit in her lap, drawing her eyes to his. "Kalinda, as team medic, I outrank everyone when it comes to the squad's health. I can't do anything about what's going on out there," he gestured to the door, "but I can help those in here. And I think you'll feel a little better after a shower."

The dark-haired woman toyed with the corners of the kit, then gave him a tired, wry smile. "You don't outrank me, Weave. You don't outrank anyone. Neither do I."

He chuckled. "Maybe so, but you still need a shower." The moment the words left his mouth, he winced, but she didn't seem to take offense.

"Fair enough." She sighed and stood up, accepting the fatigues and shower-kit. "If anyone calls, please tell them I'll be right out, okay?"

"Oh, goody. It's been so long since I got to play messenger," Traxis muttered, though Crest elbowed his side, and Kalinda frowned.

Weave pretended not to have heard the scarred clone. "Sure thing," he told the Jedi, who slipped out of the room. Not until he heard the sound of running water did he cast a glare at Traxis. "Didn't we have a talk about this?"

" _You_ talked  _at_ me," Trax pointed out.

"She's got a lot on her plate," Crest began, but the scarred clone cut him off with a shake of his head.

"Don't I know it." He grabbed his pistol and slid it into a holster at his hip, adding a few vibroblades to his belt as well. "It's too effing crowded in here. I'm gonna do some recon on the roof. I'll comm if I see any clankers."

Without waiting for a reply, Traxis slipped out of the apartment, leaving Crest and Weave alone. They exchanged weary glances, but it was Crest who spoke. "Let's give him time to cool off; it's been a kriff of a day all around."

"Copy that," Weave said.

Nodding, Crest glanced around the dingy apartment again, and a determined look came over his face as he stood up. "If we're going to bunk here, I reckon we should make the place a little less...icky."

It was something to do, at least. For a few minutes, the clones busied themselves with cleaning; the fallen bits of flimsi were collected, the surfaces were wiped down with a spare rag, and Weave ran his ionic sterilizer over the couch, the bed, and anything else he thought would need it.

Aside from the occasional comment, neither man spoke, and save for the faint hiss of the shower and the occasional blare of traffic outside, it was silent. The clones were too efficient, and it only took about ten minutes to get the place to a more satisfactory standard.

When they'd finished, they looked around the empty apartment a moment before Crest sighed and skimmed a hand over his head. "It's so quiet. I don't like how quiet it is."

"Me either."

Crest indicated the kitchen; they'd found a few non-perishable food items, canned soup and the like. "Hungry?"

"Not after that dinner."

"Yeah, me either." When Kalinda's holocomm began to chirrup, the soft noise made both clones start in surprise. They exchanged glances, and Weave noted the look of near-panic on Crest's face. "Please don't make me answer that."

"Fine." Weave darted for the holocomm, plucking it from the couch and answering in one smooth motion. "Hello?"

Of all the clones in the galaxy, the very last one he wanted to see was Lieutenant Wren. The fellow was partnered with Jedi Ro Arhen, and was known for his razor-sharp temper and razor-thin patience. Wren was eighty-odd kilos of meanness and muscle, a fierce fighter with a long memory and a short fuse. And, oh yes, he  _hated_ Weave. With a deep and abiding passion.

It  _may_ have had something to do with Weave's former crush on Ro, but really, that was all in the past now, right?

Weave watched Wren's face darken when he realized who'd answered. "What the fek do you want?"

 _Kriff_! Weave shot a helpless look at Crest, who'd slapped his hand in front of his mouth to keep from laughing openly.  _Thanks, vod._ Weave cleared his throat. "Lieutenant; thanks for returning General Halcyon's message. Uh...is Ro there?"

"Why the  _gfersh_  do  _you_  want to talk to Ro?" Wren sneered.

Weave squared his shoulders and did his best imitation of Stonewall's calm, captain-voice. "It doesn't really concern you, but  _Kalinda_  needed to talk to Ro. That's why she left a message–"

"Then where the kriff is your effing Jedi?"

"Cookie, who're you hollering at, now?" The familiar voice came from out of the projection range, and Weave swore he saw Wren's shoulders relax a fraction of an inch, though the hologram shuddered as he shoved the comm toward Ro.

"Never kriffing mind," Wren snarled to Weave. "I don't effing care. It's for you."

This was said to Ro, as Wren got up from his seat, and Weave blinked back a surge of dizziness as the holoproj on Ro's end wobbled, skewing his field of vision wildly before it settled, revealing a ship's cockpit. Ro appeared in the next moment, blonde hair drawn up into two pigtails and wearing a rather fetching leather jacket, shirt and pants, all in, Weave presumed, an assortment of bright colors. The holo washed everything in blue, but he knew Ro's predilection for vivid patterns.

For some reason, she carried a helmet and set of podracer's goggles, both of which she tucked under her arm as she met his eyes. A huge grin split her face. " _Koh-toh-yah_ , Weave. Long time, no looky and all that glitz. How's tricks?"

Despite himself, Weave felt his ears get hot at her easy nature. "Well...not great, actually," he said, glancing at the doorway where Kalinda had gone. When he looked back at Ro, he saw that her grin had faded and her expression had become more serious. Oddly, it set him at ease. "It's best if Kalinda explains," he said. "But she's in the shower..."

Kriff, how much did Ro know about Stonewall? Did it matter if another Jedi knew, anyway? As a member of the Altisian sect, Ro wasn't a traditional Knight, but Weave was unwilling to risk revealing too much information, just in case. Besides, he wasn't exactly sure why Kalinda had comm'd Ro in the first place...

Well, Kalinda wasn't here, so he tried to adapt. "Long story short: Captain Stonewall and Milo have been arrested and sent to Kamino. Kalinda's trying to get them back."

He left out the probation and Force-abilities, because...well, that was all pretty messy. But Ro seemed to get the gist of it, as her eyes widened. "Wowzers. That's quite a few more tricks than I was expecting."

"That's putting it mildly."

The familiar voice made Weave nearly sag with relief. Kalinda slid around him and took a seat on the couch. Her hair was loose and damp, and she was dressed in a pair of clone fatigue pants with the cuffs rolled up, though she wore her own sleeveless shirt. Weave handed her the comm and nearly sprang away, but something in her expression made him keep his seat.

Kalinda gave him a brief smile, then looked back at Ro. "I'm sorry to bother you two; I'm sure you're in the middle of a mission, but I need a quick favor."

Ro's eyes flickered over Kalinda, and Weave thought the younger woman could sense Kalinda's distress, even through the holo, even across light years. "Lay it on me," she said with a nod.

"I need..." Kalinda paused, seemed to have to gather her strength, then continued. "I need to get in touch with Djinn. The sooner the better."

"Sure," Ro replied. "I'll send his digits along riiiiight..." She glanced down and began to tap something out on her ship's console. Kalinda's comlink lit up a beat later. "...now," Ro finished, smiling. "Is that it?"

Her voice was still bright and warm, but there was a deeper edge to the warmth. Concern. Weave recognized it immediately, and it was a concern that was matched in the younger Jedi's gaze. Beside him, Kalinda seemed to shrink in on herself, wrapping her arms around her torso and seeming to have to fight to keep her calm. Weave had a moment's debate about whether to leave her to have a private call with the other Jedi, or to stay by her side and offer what support he could.

Weave was a medic. He chose to help his patient, even if he could do nothing more than stick around. A glance at Crest got the idea across to the bald clone, who rose and slid on the couch, on Kalinda's other side.

The dark-haired woman exhaled deeply and looked back up at Ro. When she spoke, her voice trembled. "Someone found out about Stonewall. He was arrested and sent to Kamino, and I know it's because of his...unique abilities. They took Milo, too. Apparently he assaulted the officer who tried to arrest Stone. Now they're both gone."

Ro's lips parted. Shock and horror played across her face, swiftly followed by sorrow, and fear. "Oh, Kali..."

"I don't..." Kalinda shuddered and ducked her head, and Weave watched her hands clench hard enough to bleach her knuckles. "I don't know who gave the order, but I do know why. And I'm going to do something about it."

"We all are," Weave broke in.

Ro smiled at him. "Shadow Squad's a force to be reckoned with. Even Cookie thinks so."

A growl that did not sound like Ro's pet strill came from off-screen, and Ro giggled impishly.

Kalinda chuckled as well, and Weave was relieved to see the faint smile on her face, so he shot Ro a grateful look. She gave him a wink, and his ears heated again. Kalinda took a deep breath and sat up. "The thing is, I'm technically on probation, now, though after today's events, I might well be kicked out of the Order altogether, and the guys..."

She trailed off and looked between them. Crest sat up and snapped off a reg-perfect salute. "We're officially AWOL – at least. Maybe more, given the whole airspeeder debacle."

Kalinda tensed at the mention of the airspeeder. "No matter what happens to me, it's very likely they won't fare as well, if we should fall back into GAR custody. I want to be sure they have...options."

"Hence Djinn," Ro supplied, nodding thoughtfully, though it was clear she was startled by all the news. After a moment, a smile tugged at her lips. "I think he'd think it was bombad decent of you to look out for your men like this. I  _know_  it is. And Master Altis," a grim, secretive smile lit Ro's face, oddly reminiscent of Wren at his most sardonic, "has gotten some practice under his utility belt in offering alternative lifestyle choices to the mass produced and right-wise neglected, so your hunks of handsomosity would be in capable hands."

She looked at Weave again, but he hardly noticed. Options? What sort of options was their Jedi talking about? He shot a helpless look at Crest, who looked as nonplussed as he felt. He'd thought Kalinda contacted Ro because of some special Jedi-matter, or something similar and far beyond his understanding.

Never in a thousand years would he have guessed she'd done so for his and his brothers' sakes.

"Is it alrighty-ho if I give him a heads-up?" Ro asked. "It'd make the wheels of progress turn that much faster.  _And_  give him a chance to clear out a few spare bunks on the  _Chu'unthor_."

"That would be wonderful," Kalinda replied.

Ro's features softened. "I really, really wish I could do more, but Cookie and I are swamped. Like, Dagobah-level swamped. The minute we get free, though..."

Kalinda shook her head. "You've done more than enough. Thank you. I'm sorry to dump all this on you. I just didn't know–"

She broke off and looked down at her bare feet, curled against the carpet, and Weave had an urge to put his arm around her, to offer some physical reassurance. But he held still. There was a part of him that was too steeped in training to do anything of the sort, even though he'd never seen their general look less of a Jedi than she did right now.

"Don't worry about me," Ro said in a warm voice. "Or Cookie. I know you were worried about him."

Kalinda laughed again. Even though it was a short sound, almost an exhalation rather than a true laugh, there was a hint of teasing in her voice. "You know I'm always concerned for Wren's well-being. Tell him I said so, will you?"

"Tell  _her_  I said to eff off," came Wren's reply.

Ro gave a dramatic sigh. "Aint' he a charmer?" Her words quieted, and her face became more serious once more. "I mean it," she said to Kalinda. "The  _nanosecond_  I can do anything else, I'll comm you."

The dark-haired woman gave a half-bow, which Weave knew was Jedi-speak for "thank you," and Ro returned the gesture. Before she signed off, though, Ro reached one slender hand toward the holoproj, as if reaching to touch Kalinda. "It's going to be alright," she said quietly. "I promise. 'Kay?"

Kalinda regarded her, then nodded once. "Thank you. May the Force be with you, Ro."

"Back 'atcha."

The link faded.

* * *

_Later..._

She couldn't sleep.

It wasn't because the apartment's walls were thin and traffic was loud in this part of town. It wasn't because of the glowing, neon signs nearby, whose pink and yellow light filtered through the shades across the bedroom window. It wasn't because of the headache that wouldn't go away, or the endless kriffing nausea.

Kalinda was exhausted, more so than she'd been in a long time, after much more grueling days, but today was different. Today, her entire world had been thrown into chaos, and she didn't know how she was going to set it right. Earlier, it'd been easy not to think about reality; she'd been occupied with the guys, then getting to Dex's, then coming up with a few backup plans should her insane idea to get to Kamino somehow not work out.

But in the darkness, alone in a bed big enough for two, the unrelenting weight of reality pressed upon her heart. The shadows around her seemed darker in contrast to the garish, neon lights outside, and no matter how much she tossed and turned, she could not get comfortable. The guys had been amazing and ensured that the sheets were clean, but she couldn't relax. She couldn't even meditate.

Stonewall was gone. Their child would not have a father.

Kali told herself not to think of  _that_ now, but it was a futile effort. Stonewall was gone; no matter how hard she tried, she could only barely feel him in the Force. Just a thread of their bond remained, but all it did was assure her that he was alive and that he still loved her. Both were comforts, to be sure, but she could not shake the worry over his and Milo's futures. Was Milo even still alive? He'd been sent to Kamino...what would happen to a clone who'd assaulted an officer? Nothing good, she was certain.

And Stone...

 _He'll be killed,_ she thought, her throat tight.  _Right before he's dissected and his brain is shoved under a microscope._

She did not realize she was crying until she turned her cheek and felt the damp pillow.

Suddenly, she couldn't breathe. It was too much, this weight, and it was going to break her if she laid here any longer. Kali slipped out of the bed and padded to the door on silent, bare feet. Before she left the bedroom, she was able to call up her Force-shield, so she wouldn't disturb her sleeping men.

It was a trick she'd perfected about two years ago, around the same time she'd met Stonewall. Using the Force, she could create a barrier of a sort between her and most other things: blaster-bolts, scanners, eyes and ears. It was not easy to sustain, nor was it fool-proof, but it would serve her purposes tonight.

So concealed, she stood at the threshold and watched Crest and Weave. She'd insisted they get some rest, and although she knew they would awake at the first whiff of danger, right now, both slept soundly. Crest had curled up on the couch, knees bent, arms folded around his side; even so, it was a small couch and his body barely fit. Weave was probably a little more comfortable on the easy-chair, chin tucked into his chest, fingers laced and hands resting across his stomach, feet outstretched on one of the dining chairs. Kali looked around the apartment again, noting that they'd cleaned up a little. Had she thanked them?

There was a pile of extra bedding set aside for Traxis, but it was empty. Kali remembered Crest telling her the scarred clone had gone "out," but he hadn't known more than that. Both Crest and Weave seemed to think he needed some time to process the day's events, and would be back soon.

Taking a deep breath, Kali reached through the Force to get a sense of Traxis, just to know he was safe. She caught a ripple of fury far above her head, and realized he was on the roof of the building. Alone, and angry. That was not unusual; Trax was angry a lot. But the emotion she sensed from him now went beyond his usual brand of ire. It was darker, more dangerous. It was the kind of helpless rage that made men do stupid things. Kali didn't know what she would do if any more of her guys were hurt, so she made a decision.

After casting one last look at the sleeping clones, Kali slid on her boots, tucking the hem of the fatigues in around her calves, and slipped out of the apartment, into the empty corridor. She did not drop her shield, but she let it relax a little, enough to turn away any unwary eyes should she come across another being. The turbolift was vacant and only shuddered a little after she entered the code that would take her to the highest floor, where she figured the roof-access was located.

Several minutes later, Kali stepped out of the old-style swinging door onto the building's roof. This part of Taung Heights was tucked deep into the city-planet's middle layers, which meant that above her head and below her feet, all she could see were more buildings. They stretched on all sides, bathed in their own lights and filled with life. She could not see the sky; during the day, sunlight wouldn't reach this part of the city at all, as far away from the upper-levels as they were. Such was life in most of the ecumenopolis.

Still shielded, Kali surveyed the massive rooftop, which was easily several hundred square meters, though it was not an open space. Many of the building's residents had claimed the rooftop for their own devices, setting up places for small families to gather, cook "outside," or meet in larger groups. There was even a garden, walled with an energy-shield and artificially lit.

But some of the rooftop was unclaimed; a good fourth of it was topped with the building's power-junction, housing the pod-shaped relays that maintained a steady stream of energy to power the building. Among this area were a few flat, unadorned sections, fitted between the large, ferrocrete pods. Among these, was Traxis.

Back to her, he leaned against one of the pods, arms crossed as he gazed over the city, looking for all the world like he was standing sentinel even though he only wore his fatigues. Kali reached out to him through the Force and felt his anger once more. As she'd sensed previously, the emotion was broad, far-reaching, and mired in helplessness, but there were threads of it directed  _her_  way, even though Kali knew Trax was unaware she stood so close.

All other thoughts fell aside as she worked to push through Trax's anger and find her calm, because now she knew she  _definitely_ needed to talk to him. She took a breath and closed the space between them. When she was about five meters away, she dropped her shield and said his name once, softly, as she approached.

His body tensed, but he did not turn or speak.

"You can't sleep either?" she asked.

He shrugged.

Kali exhaled and took another step closer. There was no use dancing around the glocklaw sauce with this man; Trax needed a direct approach. He was kind of like Mace in that way. "Trax, why are you angry with me?"

This seemed to catch him off-guard. Traxis turned to her, brow furrowed in confusion, though the rest of his expression was bitter. "Your Force can't tell you?"

"Not in so many words."

All of the anger coursing through Trax shifted towards her, hitting Kali with the force of a slap as his face twisted with fury. "I'm angry because this whole fekking mess is  _your_  fault."

Reeling a little from the intensity of the emotion, Kali froze perhaps a meter away. "Trax..."

But he cut her off with a shake of his head, and his next words fell upon her like a hail of blaster-bolts. "You're a kriffing  _Jedi._ You're supposed to  _help_ , not cause more  _shabla_ trouble. You're supposed to be better... But you aren't, are you? You're just like everyone else; you don't know what the kriff you're doing. And you made  _him_  fall in love with you, made him...turn  _into_ whatever the hell you are, and now he's  _gone_. Forever. Him and Mi..."

His words broke off again and he seemed to have to fight for control. "Fekking Milo," he said at last, voice hoarse. "It should have been me. At least I could handle Kamino. Better than that poor, sweet kid, at any rate."

Kali hardly breathed. She was certain if she moved, her body would collapse in on itself. An icy knot of fear and shame coiled in her stomach, and the longer Trax spoke, the bigger the knot became.  _He's right,_  a part of her brain whispered.  _You know he's right. This is your fault._  If she'd acted as a proper Jedi should, if she'd had no attachments, no weaknesses, Stonewall and Milo would be alive and well.

A sob caught in her throat, but she refused to break down in front of yet another person today, so she choked it back and put a fist to her mouth to keep quiet. If she could breathe, she could speak, and maybe then she could try and reply, but right now, it was all she could do to not openly cry.

Traxis turned away from her again and looked at the endless city all around them. "No matter what the others think," his words were dark and heavy, "I know how this story ends. No one comes back from Kamino. Milo sure as fek won't. If Stonewall's not killed when the long-necks dissect him, he'll be reconditioned." Trax looked at her again, and through her own blurred vision she saw his eyes were wet. "I hope they kill him."

The words and the sentiment behind them were a dark mirror of her own thoughts, and the helplessness radiating from the man before her broke the last of Kali's already fragile control. Even standing became too difficult, so she knelt in the gravel of the rooftop, ducked her head and relented, allowing the tears to flow. It was too much. She wasn't strong enough for this. She'd never been strong enough to be a Jedi.

In that moment, Kali was sixteen again. In that moment, she was watching her father as he bled, so heavy in her arms as he took his last breath. In that moment, the world was just as dark and she was just as helpless. She put her cheeks in her hands and wept.

Someone swore in a gruff male voice, and the next thing she knew, strong arms embraced her and held her close to his chest. A hand rested on the back of her head, urging her closer, and for one insane moment she thought she was hallucinating, and Stonewall had come across the stars to comfort her...

Then Trax spoke in her ear. "I know it's not the same, but it's better than nothing."

She couldn't reply. All she could do was bury her face in his shoulder and cry.

* * *

He didn't know how long he held her. There was no way to gauge the passage of time without a visible sky, and if he moved his arm to look at his chrono, he would disturb her. So Traxis tried to count down the minutes in his head, though his heart wasn't really into it. At some point, he'd managed to maneuver them both to a sitting position, which was slightly more comfortable than crouching on the  _shabla_  roof.

After a while, she stopped crying, but she didn't move from his arms and he didn't release her. In a way, they were each all the other had left of Stonewall. There was a connection between them, one he'd never recognized until now.

With that understanding, some of his anger toward the dark-haired woman fled – what of it was genuinely directed at her, anyway – and he felt a strange flare of protective energy. The feeling took root where the jealousy in his heart had lived, and began to grow.  _She_  was all he had left of Stonewall, who had loved her more than Traxis could have ever understood.

So he held her close and let her cry herself to sleep in his arms.

Right now, there was nothing Traxis could do about his anger. He wasn't smart enough to steal a ship. He wasn't powerful enough to breach Kamino on his own, find his  _vode_ and bring them to safety, let alone strong enough to battle through whatever passed for guards on the storm world. He had no wish to kill other clones.

But Kalinda – Kali, in his arms – had resources, contacts. She had a plan – of a sort. She was not helpless. The man she loved was in trouble, and she was doing everything in her power – her own career as a Jedi be damned – to get him back. All Traxis did was get pissed off and snarky.

As he'd stood over the city, these thoughts had circled through his brain, along with him alternately railing at fate or destiny, or the kriffing Force, and wallowing in his own bitterness, because it  _should_ have been him that had punched Commander Fox and been sent to Kamino. But he was  _here_ , and Stonewall and Milo were gone. Probably forever. And Traxis knew, with the same kind of certainty he reserved for the advantages of his favorite blaster-rifle, that he would never see them again.

However, if there  _was_  a chance of seeing either man again, it was a razor-thin one, and it would hinge on the dark-haired woman who'd sought Traxis out even though she was a hair-trigger away from losing her own  _osik._ That Kalinda had come to him when it was obvious he was angry with her was commendable. Most others left him to his own devices, but she'd tried to make things right.

Just like Stonewall had, on Balasi.

A little more of his anger fled, and Traxis sighed and rubbed her back.  _Fek. I made Kali cry. If he lives long enough to find out, Stonewall's going to effing kill me._

When her body stilled and the pattern of her breathing took on a deep, rhythmic pace, he knew it was time to go. Carefully, he gathered the Jedi in his arms, noting how light she was. Kriff, she'd always seemed...more substantial, but she was a bitty thing, wasn't she? He stood up slowly, and once he was certain he could move without disturbing her, he began to make his way back to the apartment.

It was dark and quiet. Crest and Weave were snoring quietly on the couch and armchair, respectively, and Trax was adept at moving without waking sleeping brothers. He made it to the bedroom without incident, and carefully set Kalinda on the bed, gently pulling off her boots and ensuring that she would be comfortable while she slept. Once she was out of his arms, she made a quiet noise of protest and turned her face toward him.

"Stone...?" she murmured, reaching out with one hand. Her eyes were still closed, but a faint frown touched her lips as she sought a man who wasn't there.

Trax's chest tightened. She was still asleep; he figured she was dreaming, but he had no wish to wake her up and let the dream dissolve. That would happen soon enough.

Instead, he knelt beside her and ran a hand over her hair, as he'd seen Stonewall do a hundred times. "It's alright,  _Kali'ka,_ " he told her quietly, trying to mimic the captain's speech-patterns. "Just go back to sleep. Everything's going to be alright, I promise."

She sighed and nodded dimly, then grew still once more as she dropped into a deeper sleep. Traxis stayed by her side a moment longer, then rose and slipped out of her room. When the bedroom door shut behind him, he took a deep, shaking breath to gather his fortitude. He glanced around the dark room and noticed that his  _vode_ had made a sleeping area for him, but he had an urge to stay close by the bedroom. He collected a cushion and a blanket, brought them near the bedroom door and took a seat, his back resting on a cushion, leaning against the wall.

Within a few moments, he was asleep too.

* * *

A/N: Many thanks to the fan-kriffing-tastic  _ **impoeia**_  for letting me borrow her OCs: Ro and Wren, in addition to taking on the monster task of beta-ing this story. If you have not already done so, do yourself a favor and check out her phenomenal fics. :) The references to impoeia's OCs are from a collaborative WIP between her and myself. Consider those sections a teaser for that fic. ;)

What do you think of the story so far? Any thoughts on how events will play out? What would you like to see happen? All comments/thoughts/critiques are welcome with open arms. :)

Massive virtual hugs to anyone who's reading! I hope you're enjoying the story so far.

Next time: back to Kamino.


	10. Chapter Nine

A/N: This chapter references events from  _Warriors Of Shadow._

Lyrics:[ "There's No Way Out Of Here" by David Gilmour, on  _David Gilmour_.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7nEZQKsf37I&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp&index=10)

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

_There are no answers here,_

_When you look out you don't see in._

_There was no promise made,_

_The part you've played, the chance you took._

_There's no way out of here,_

_When you come in, you're in for good._

As far as Milo could tell, life in Sector Nine was more or less the same as it was anywhere else – for a clone, anyway.

The morning after his and Stonewall's arrival, Milo had been awakened when Ward and Halligan had entered their cell and taken his former captain away without a word. It'd happened so fast. One second Milo had been in a deep sleep; the next, they'd barged in, shot Stonewall with a hypo to knock him out, and dragged him out the cell without so much as a  _good morning._

That was hours ago. Now, Milo stood outside and looked at the cloudy sky. It was raining, naturally, but for some reason the clones here were given a couple hours of time outside each day, regardless of the weather. This was one of the differences between Sector Nine and the Kamino that Milo had grown up with. In all his years as a cadet, he'd been outside only for training purposes. The long-necks had never just let the clones meander around unsupervised. Oh, there were guards here alright; Ward and Halligan stood sentinel at one side of the permacrete platform, but there was no rhyme or reason to the situation. There was no trainer ordering them to run laps or rappel down the sides of the domed cities; there were no officers calling out exercises, forcing the clones to do a hundred reps of this or that.

There was just the rain, and about a dozen "defective" clones huddled together in the shelter of the building's awning.

Except Milo.

He stood at the edge of the platform and peered through the energy fence, over the churning sea, half-hoping to see an aiwha, but mostly watching the choppy, frothing waves. After a moment, he turned his face up and closed his eyes, content to let the rain fall on his cheeks. When he listened to the sea, he was reminded of Coraux, and the night he and the others had spent on the Numen boardwalk...

"What are you doing?"

Milo opened his eyes and looked at Zero, who'd come to stand beside him, shielding his eyes from the light rain with his single hand. Over his shoulder, the other clones watched Milo with curiosity, and he realized he'd not actually  _met_ any of them yet. The moment he'd come outside, he'd made a direct heading for the platform's edge.

"Just enjoying the view," Milo said.

Zero seemed to study the horizon, then shrugged. "Suit yourself. Don't try to jump, though." He nudged the energy shield with the toe of his boot; it must have shocked him, but he didn't react. "It won't let you go. You're stuck in The Dregs, just like the rest of us."

Milo frowned. "Why would I want to jump? The fall alone would..."

Suddenly his throat went dry and he couldn't get the rest of the words out. Zero, however, rocked on his heels and watched the waves like a starving man would regard a feast. "A fellow can dream."

It took Milo several moments to form speech again. "So...what do you guys do out here?"

Zero cocked his head like he didn't understand the question. "What does it look like we do?"

"Um...stand around?"

Zero grinned and tapped his nose. "Got it in one."

"Don't you want to get some exercise after being cooped up all day?"

The one-armed clone shrugged. "What's the point? Is running laps going to make me sprout a second arm?"

"Never mind _,_ " Milo said, sighing. He nodded to the other clones. "Why don't you introduce me to your  _vode_?"

Zero frowned at him but began to walk back to the others, Milo following. They reached the cluster of other clones, most of whom stared at Milo like  _he'd_ just sprung out of the ocean. It was a little disconcerting, the way they studied him so openly. Among most clones – well, the ones he was familiar with – it was considered rude to blatantly stare at anyone else. Milo didn't know  _why;_ he just knew it wasn't done.

"This is the newest resident, Milo," Zero said with an exaggerated sweep of his arm.

Milo waved at the small group. "Nice to meet all of you."

"For once, it is  _all_  of us," Zero broke in. "A few guys are usually with the long-neck, but Creon seems quite taken with his new toy." He gave Milo a knowing look, but he addressed the others. "Milo isn't like us. He's in perfect condition."

One of the clones, a blind fellow with eyes frosted white, gave a snort of laughter. "How'd you manage that? Factory reset?"

The others laughed; Milo laughed too, but felt uneasy for it. The blind clone indicated himself. "Rime. That's my cell-mate Cobble."

This was said with a gesture to a clone about Zero's age, shifting his feet and nervously glancing around. At the sound of his name, he practically jumped out of his skin, glancing around with wild, wide eyes and muttering, "Cobble?"

Rime sighed. "That's all he says. You get used to it."

Another clone stepped forward. Well, he tried to. His feet were turned inward and his back was hunched over, but he wasn't old at all. Maybe a little younger than Zero, though his posture was that of a very old man and his steps wobbled. He shuffled close to Milo and began to circle him on unsteady feet, eying him up and down.

"What's a clone like  _you_  doing here?" he asked as he circled, his wobbling knees brushing up against Milo's.

Milo tried not to flinch at the other clone's proximity. "It's kind of a long story."

"Den, Milo's  _not_  supposed to be here," Zero offered. "He followed Stonewall, his captain, who got arrested for...something or other."

Neither Milo nor Stonewall had seen a reason to share Stonewall's Force-abilities with their cell-mate, and – oddly – Zero had not seemed inclined to ask. Not even about the collar. He'd simply accepted Stonewall's presence.

"Where's Stonewall?" Rime asked.

Something tight caught in Milo's lungs and made it hard to take a proper breath. "He's..."

"Ward and Halligan took him away early this morning," Zero broke in. "I imagine Creon's running more of his lovely tests. There's no telling if the good captain will make it to lunch."

Heedless of Milo's grimace, Den paused and looked up directly into Milo's face. "So...your captain  _is_  defective, but you came along...on your own. No one  _forced_  you to come here?"

"No," Milo replied, straightening his shoulders out of long-ingrained habit. "My  _vod_ was in trouble, and needed someone to watch his six."

The others, save milky-eyed Rime, exchanged startled looks and began to mutter amongst themselves. Except for one fellow, much younger than Milo, who stood a few places away. He was not quite all the way beneath the awning, like the others; one shoulder was exposed to the light patter of rain, the drops darkening the fabric of his shirt. The moment he saw Milo looking at him, he ducked his head and dropped to a kneel, reaching out one hand to make swirling patterns against the rain-wet ferrocrete.

Zero rubbed his forehead, a frustrated look on his face. "Okay, you've either got to stop using that word, or tell me what it means."

"What word?"

The one-armed clone frowned at him. "Vohd. Or is it vo-day? You say both."

Milo gaped at him. "You don't know what ' _vod'_  means?" Zero shook his head, as did the others, and Milo wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. All he managed was a helpless shrug. "It's Mando'a – Mandalorian language. You know, like Jango Fett." He paused. "You  _do_ know who Jango is, don't you?"

Zero rolled his eyes. "We're defective, not stupid."

"Right, sorry." Milo's face was hot as he teetered between embarrassment and shock. He'd never met an adult clone who didn't know what  _vod_ meant. " _Vod_ means 'brother,' in Mando'a.  _Vode_ means 'brother _s_ ' – plural. But it's more than that."

"How?" Rime asked, brow furrowed. The others wore similar looks of confusion, except for the one young clone.

Milo paused, searching for the proper words to educate these men. Strange, to think he would ever have to explain such a simple concept to other  _clones_ ; he remembered General Halcyon asking about it, but she would have had no reason to know. Stonewall had explained it to her one day, during one of those quiet moments in hyperspace not long after Shadow Squad had formed, but before they'd settled on a name.

Thinking of Stonewall made him worry all over again, but he tried to set aside the feeling. "' _Vod'_  means 'brother,' but it implies...a stronger connection. Like a family. We're  _all_  brothers, in a sense, but not every clone considers every other clone a true  _vod_ , at least not until you really get to know the guy."

The others looked at each other, then back at him, but it was Zero who spoke. "What difference does it make?"

It was Milo's turn to frown in confusion. "Huh?"

"If a clone is a 'brother' or not," Zero replied. "Who cares?"

Den nodded. "Yeah. And why did having a...'vohd' make you want to follow your captain  _here_?"

"Maybe he  _is_ defective," Rime added with a smirk, nudging Cobble's side. "Just in his brain. Like you, Cob."

Cobble flinched at the touch, and rubbed his hands along his torso, rocking back and forth on his heels. "Cobble," he muttered, shaking his head.

The younger clone had looked up; he met Milo's eyes and gave a small nod as if he understood...but he'd not said a word. With a deep breath to quiet his nerves, Milo tried to explain.

"Stonewall and I are," it was his turn to flinch, " _were_ , a part of Shadow Squad. We've been through a lot together over the last couple years. We're all brothers. We all have each other's six – we look out for each other because...well, because that's what  _vode_ do."

"But why?" Den asked.

"What does it matter?" Zero added. The others nodded in agreement, eyes on Milo and expressions ranging from bewildered to skeptical.

Milo looked between them helplessly. He felt like he was trying to explain something intangible, like why the ocean was wet, or the feeling of sliding into a comfortable bunk after a long and grueling day. "It matters because...because it's important. Because all we have is each other. Because...we're family. If we don't look out for each other, who will?"

None of the others replied; they only stared at Milo like he'd turned into a Hutt.

Until he felt a soft nudge on his arm and looked down. The younger clone was beside him, pointing to smudges he'd made in the rain soaked ferrocrete. No...not smudges. Milo knelt to get a better look and realized it was a few words of Basic...

SHADOW SQUAD?

"Are you asking about my squad?" he asked the younger clone. The lad's eyes lit up and he nodded rapidly; apparently this was the clone who couldn't speak. But his enthusiasm was contagious, and Milo grinned despite his own worries. "We're spec-ops. We traveled all over the galaxy with our Jedi general, on all sorts of crazy missions. I could tell you some stories! But first...what's your name?"

"I'm not sure he has one," Zero broke in, shrugging.

Milo looked at the younger clone, who frowned and shook his head before he knelt, rubbing patterns in the wet ferrocrete once more. Milo watched the letters form: LEVY

"Levy?" he asked. "Your name is Levy?"

The kid nodded again, a look of utter relief and joy crossing his face. For some reason, the expression made Milo angry and sad and pleased all at once. The feeling was magnified when Levy sprang up and hugged him, practically bouncing on his heels in his delight.

As he was embraced, Milo glanced at Zero. "You didn't try to find out his name?"

Zero shoved his hand in the pocket of his fatigues. "Why? It's not like he's going to be around very long. The little ones can't handle life here like we can."

"Yeah, you shouldn't get too attached to the kids that come through," Rime added.

Still hugging Milo, Levy tensed and ducked his head, but Milo patted his back. "It's alright,  _vod,_ " he murmured. He glanced around at the other clones, none of whom seemed even remotely shamed by their own behavior; none of them seemed...well,  _anything,_ really. They just stood out of the rain and watched him and Levy like someone would watch a holo they found oddly fascinating, but a little bizarre, too.

So he wouldn't worry the kid, Milo managed to suppress his shiver.  _These guys are kriffing_ weird _. Kind of jerks, too._

After a moment, Levy pulled away and pointed to the spot on the ferrocrete where he'd asked about Shadow Squad. Milo nodded. "Right. Stories about Shadow Squad...let me think for a second."

He decided on the mission to Florrum; invisible droids were always a crowd-pleaser, and what clone didn't like to hear about shooting the kriff out of a  _shab-_ load of tinnies? Plus the pirates were a pretty neat twist. "Alright. So, not long after we all started working together, we were sent to a planet called Florrum..."

As he spoke, he noticed that the other clones slowly inched closer, obviously engrossed in the story despite their flippant attitude toward one another. Milo had a moment of hesitation, as he'd never been a particularly great storyteller – that was Crest's specialty – but Levy's wide eyes and rapt expression encouraged him, and before too long he was sure the others were as enthralled as Levy.

"... _still_ had enough ale to have one heck of a party after all that," he finished after a few minutes, chuckling with the memory. "Those Weequay are  _serious_ about their parties."

He glanced at Levy, who was laughing silently, eyes squeezed shut and a huge grin on his face. Most of the other clones studied Milo with the dawning realization of men who'd been waiting for a punchline that went over their heads. Some, like Cobble, didn't seem to have listened at all, though they stood nearby, among the others. Others, like Zero and Rime, just looked startled.

_Kriff. Tough crowd._

Just then, Cobble's body went rigid and he ducked behind Rime, who made a noise of disgust. "Let me guess: the guards are coming?"

"And they brought toys," Zero said cheerfully. "Maybe it's finally my turn to go for good."

Milo looked in the direction of the building; sure enough, Ward and Halligan – he now recognized the distinct gray markings on their kits – approached, each toting an electro-staff. His body tensed, instinctively preparing for a fight, though he knew he'd lose, unarmed as he was. Still, he glanced around the wide platform, assessing distances and trajectories...if he'd had something to throw, he could maybe knock one of the staffs free...

Once the guards drew closer, Zero raised his hand in greeting. "Who's on the menu today, Halli?"

Halligan's voice was weary through his mic. "I've told you a thousand times, Zero.  _Don't_ call me 'Halli.'"

"And we need the new guy," Ward added, indicating Milo. "Come on. Creon wants you."

Rime chuckled. "Ah, lucky New Guy."

"He's only lucky if he doesn't come back," Den replied, and a few of the others laughed.

Milo's stomach churned. The guard waved him forward, but his legs didn't want to move. Beside him, Levy shot him a terrified look, his light-brown eyes huge and filled with fear. Oddly, the sight set Milo somewhat at ease; he didn't want Levy to be any more scared than he already was, so he swallowed his own apprehension and nodded once.

"Who's Creon?" he asked as he stepped forward.

Neither guard answered as they grabbed his arms and began to steer him toward the building's entrance, but as he was led away, he heard Zero's voice: "Only your jailer and new best friend. He'll make you beg for mercy, but he won't give it."

"Yeah," Den added. "He's kind of an asshole that way."

* * *

_Earlier..._

From the safety of the balcony, high above the training room, Creon Dai evaluated the only Force-sensitive Fett clone in the galaxy.

A dozen B1 droids formed two parallel rows on either side of the empty training room. For this round of tests, Creon had commanded them to "fire at will," in order to gauge the clone's ability to avoid being struck. The electric-red flurry of bolts rained over the clone, but the unit was able to deflect ninety-six percent of the shots, managing to dodge another three percent. The remaining one percent struck him, but the droids were only armed with simnunition. The scent of burning Human skin and hair was distasteful, but Creon hardly noticed such things any longer. Besides, the few minor burns the unit sustained were an effective motivator to obey Creon's commands.

After the first two hours, Creon had the clone's eyes bound beneath a modified helmet, blinding it and thus offering a further challenge. The unit had not disappointed. The vibrosword that the unit had been given arced bright yellow in the dark room, meeting and deflecting shot after shot. CC-3077 was a command-unit, and its records showed that it had trained with a vibrosword during its cadet days, but its alacrity and ease of movement outmatched that of other CC units. The nodes affixed to the clone's body provided a constant readout of its physical condition; the unit's heart rate was elevated, its breathing was rapid, and its brainwaves were agitated, all of which were signs of excessive Force-use, along with the usual physical exertion.

Creon spared a glance at the chrono; six point seven hours into such a strenuous session, and the clone was still standing.

Extraordinary. The unit had performed above and beyond Creon's expectations, and it had done so since the morning cycle. CC-3077 was not as strong in the Force as a Jedi, but there was no denying its prowess with that strange energy.

 _A Jedi has trained it,_ Creon realized, watching as the unit somersaulted to avoid another strike, then lifted its hand to swipe away a group of the droids. Four of them fell aside; Creon tapped his screen and six more entered the room to replace those that had fallen, and the clone turned to them, chest heaving.

But  _who_ exactly had trained the clone? One of the Jedi it had served under? Did that Jedi also have something to do with how the unit had gotten the Force? It was the most logical connection. Creon had examined the unit's most recent posting, but Kalinda Halcyon's file showed nothing of note; she was, by all accounts, a below-average specimen among her kind, with barely passable lightsaber skills and a limiting knee injury that would have spelled the end of her life had she been a Kaminoan – or one of their products.

Short of studying the Jedi herself, there was little chance of Creon discovering  _how_ the clone had come about the Force. Rather than dwell on that subject, he had decided to focus on exactly what could be done with such a creature.

He entered a command on the screen and the droids stilled. By now the clone had retreated to a corner, placing its back to the joined walls. Once the droids stopped firing, it leaned forward and tugged at the sightless helmet, to no avail. This piece of equipment was locked into the Force-suppressing collar, which had been turned off but left in place for this purpose.

Creon activated the voice-amplifier. "Come forward."

The clone held still, chest heaving.

"Unit CC-3077, come forward."

In response, the clone made what Creon assumed was a Human hand gesture meant to tell him off. The nictitating membranes of Creon's eyes blinked once, a sign of annoyance. If the unit would not take even simple commands, it was worthless to Lord Tyranus. All of its value relied on the fact that it was a clone, and clones were meant to obey without question.

No matter. He'd anticipated such defiance; very often clones who served in active duty for prolonged periods developed a rebellious streak, but there were ways to curb such behavior.

CC-3077 had provided one, no doubt unwittingly.

Without shutting off the voice-amplifier, Creon entered another command on his console, which would call one of the guards. "CT-7477."

The clone's reply was instantaneous. "Sir?"

"Has unit CT-6396 been prepared as I instructed?"

"Yes, sir."

"Bring it in and remove the binders."

At the designation, the Force-sensitive unit's body went rigid, and the sensors indicated that its heart rate had increased dramatically. The clone who'd inexplicably followed its officer to Kamino was led into the training room, hands bound behind its back. It was covered in the standard crimson fatigues of all clone units, though Creon had ordered the guards to affix several nodes to its body, similar to those on the officer. As they brought the clone inside, Creon activated the nodes remotely and the clone's bio-readings appeared on a corner of his screen.

While one guard unfastened the binders at the new unit's wrists, Creon ordered the other to remove the command-unit's helmet and blindfold. Once the guards slipped out, the two clones were alone, save for Creon, observing from a safe distance. The younger one glanced around, then hurried to the other, speaking rapidly. CC-3077 replied – in Mando'a.

Creon shifted his feet, slightly. The Mandalorian language was frowned upon on Kamino; not all aspects of Jango Fett had been suited for cloning, but some had crept in despite the Kaminoan's best efforts. Creon nearly frowned. Had he been in charge of the clones' coding, such a thing never would have taken place. Another reason his "superiors" were inept.

He activated the voice-amplifier once more. "CC-3077, you are ordered to use offensive Force tactics on CT-6396."

The CC unit did not move.

 _Very well._ Creon activated the console. The younger unit let out a cry and fell to its knees, wrapping its arms around its torso as a wave of electricity pulsed through its body, courtesy of the nodes. The other clone bent to help it, but a swipe of Creon's finger shut off the current.

As the older clone helped the younger to its feet, Creon spoke again. "CC-3077, you are ordered to use offensive Force tactics on CT-6396. Continue to refuse, and CT-6396 will continue to be disciplined. The choice is yours."

* * *

Stonewall gripped Milo's arm and met his younger brother's eyes. The brief joy he'd felt at their reunion had vanished, replaced with a kind of dawning horror that was starting to grow too common here. Milo winced and rubbed his stomach, where one of those damn sticky node-things had been attached; Stonewall was covered in the  _shabla_ things, but they'd not shocked him.

"It's not that bad," Milo said, though his face suggested otherwise. "I can handle–"

Milo's body jolted and pain tore through his Force-presence as he fell to his knees again. He didn't cry out this time, but a trickle of blood appeared at his mouth, and Stonewall realized he'd bitten his tongue to not make a sound.

Fury and fear warred within the former captain as he knelt beside his brother, trying to offer what comfort he could. The moment the shock ended, the moment Milo gasped with relief, Stonewall whirled to face the long-neck in the observation deck above his head.

"Stop this, you karking coward," he called out, gathering the Force to him. It was strong, now, resonating with his anger. It was the only weapon in his reach. "Leave him the fek alone!"

"CC-3077, you are ordered to use offensive Force tactics on CT-6396. Comply, or your subordinate will suffer."

There was no emotion in the Kaminoan's voice, but no peace either. It was dead and flat and cold, and it angered Stonewall like nothing else in his life.

Beneath the veneer of calm was a growing excitement, a bated anticipation, and a hungry kind of curiosity. All of those emotions were directed at Stonewall and what he would do next. He'd sensed them the moment the collar had been deactivated, hours ago. This long-neck – Creon Dai – had a purpose in mind for Stonewall, one that went beyond taking samples of his bodily fluids.

The realization was terrifying. It meant that no quarter would be given, no mercy shown. Stonewall had known this, but not until he saw Milo's blood did he truly understand.

He could not attack Creon, not without Milo suffering further.

As if to prove his point, Milo hissed and ducked his head again, his arms and legs jerking as the electric current was poured into his body. Stonewall raised his hands in a modified gesture of surrender. "Okay! I'll do as you say! Just...stop hurting him!"

A second passed, then Milo collapsed onto his stomach, breathing hard. "I'm alright,  _vod,_ " he gasped. "It's stopped."

As Milo got to his feet, Creon's voice echoed in the massive room, seeping into Stonewall's head with the ease of a plasma-bolt. "CC-3077, you are ordered to use offensive Force tactics on–"

"I heard you," Stonewall broke in. "Just give me a kriffing second."

He ducked his head. Even as he gathered the Force to him, his hands shook. Every part of his being rebelled at what he was about to do, but no matter how the long-neck tried to spin the situation, he had no choice. He took a deep breath and sent a pulse of energy toward his younger brother. It was small, but still sent Milo stumbling back a few paces as if he'd been kicked in the gut.

Stonewall immediately rushed to help steady him, but Creon's voice stopped him in his tracks. "Unacceptable, CC-3077. You were ordered to use  _offensive_  Force tactics on CT-6396. You have proven to me that you are capable of more. If you will not perform adequately, CT-6396 will suffer."

As he got to his feet, Milo sucked in a deep breath and looked up at his former captain. Fear tightened his mouth and his eyes, but his voice was calm. "Do what you have to do. I trust you,  _vod_."

What the kriff could Stonewall say to that?

A moment to collect his strength, another to gather his nerve, then he directed a larger wave of Force-energy toward Milo. This one was more intense; Milo's body lifted, flew backward several meters until he slammed into a nearby wall. The dull  _thud_  had not finished echoing in the room before Stonewall ran to Milo's side. His brother had slid to the floor, and appeared a little dazed, for he blinked up at Stonewall with confusion, like he couldn't quite remember the lyrics to a favorite song.

"I'm so sorry,  _vod,_ " Stonewall managed as he reached to help Milo up. "Are you okay?"

Milo let out a hiss of pain and rubbed his shoulder, which had struck the wall first, but he nodded. "Yeah. Ish."

The door to the room opened, and Ward and Halligan entered. Both men were fully armored and wielded their electro-staffs. As they approached, Halligan held up a set of cuffs. "We're going to bring you both back to the cell. You," he indicated Stonewall, "Creon's turned your collar back on, so don't try anything silly."

Stonewall looked up, where the Kaminoan had stood all kriffing day. The  _shabuir_ was not paying attention to the clones any longer; instead, he glanced between his datapad and the screen before him. Stonewall risked reaching out with the Force and sensed...

Satisfaction.

Creon had gotten exactly what he'd wanted. Stonewall had broken.

"Can you pull the sticky-things off of me too?" Milo asked as Ward bound his wrists. "They're really itchy."

Ward answered, but Stonewall hardly heard him, nor did he pay much attention as he and Mi were led from the room and through the labyrinthine corridors that made up this part of Sector Nine. His thoughts had turned to the darkness within.

* * *

_Later..._

Stonewall looked over his plate at Milo, and noted with relief that the younger man had eaten most of whatever passed for lunch. "Are you–"

Milo sighed and met his eyes, cutting off his question with a weary smile. "I'm fine," he said quietly. "Just like I was the last dozen times you asked."

Stonewall gave him an apologetic nod. "I know. I can't help it, though."

"I know."

Their words were easily lost among the talk of the other clones in the mess-hall, for which Stonewall was thankful. Most of The Dregs' residents gave the pair a wide berth, choosing to ignore them in favor of their own, strangely monotone conversations. Stonewall was thankful for that, too. He and Milo hadn't had much of a chance to talk since the session with Creon, and the former captain didn't quite know what to say. So he'd stuck with the tried-and-true.

Maybe it was better that way. At least for now.

Milo toyed with his protein supplements, moving the little cubes around on the plasti-plate before looking up at Stonewall, brow furrowed. "This place is...weird."

Of all the things he could have said, that was not quite what Stonewall had been expecting. The former captain nodded and glanced around, noting how none of the other clones looked at him. Hell, they hardly looked at each other, and their faces were oddly blank.

"Yeah. You can say that again."

"Well...it's more like the clones here are weird," Milo added, frowning. "While you were...away, I was in the training yard with the others." He put down his fork and gave Stonewall a look that was pure frustration. "They didn't know what the word ' _vod'_ meant. How crazy is that? And there is this one fellow," he glanced around until he nodded to a younger, cadet-aged clone, entering the mess, "who can't talk, but no one tried to find out his name."

Stonewall frowned as well. "That's...passing strange."

"Yeah." Milo sighed and shook his head. "Poor kid. Honestly, though, I feel sorry for all of them. Not knowing what it means to have brothers...can you imagine?"

The expression on his face was pure bewilderment now; still "shiny" somehow, despite the fact that Milo spoke from experience. He speared a protein cube and chewed it thoughtfully while watching the young cadet stand in the food line with the others, tray in hand.

Stonewall took a bite of his own food, but didn't taste it. Truthfully, only part of his attention was on the conversation with Mi; the rest was back in the training-room, and on the emotions he'd sensed from Creon. The long-neck was testing him for some reason, that much was clear. The  _shabuir_ had run Stonewall through every lesson in the book, many of which Kali had introduced him to during those first few months he'd been able to access the Force. Creon's tests were, naturally, far less pleasant than anything he'd ever done with Kali, but Stonewall knew his measure was being taken.

It made sense, in an effed-up way. He was one-of-a-kind, and it was logical that his captors sought to get a true estimation of his worth. Or, more likely, what he could do for them.

The entire situation was bizarre. Stonewall was a clone, one of millions of identical-in-body men whose entire existence was meant to serve those who "owned" them. All clones were bred and trained to obey without question. Stonewall was just like Mi, just like Trax and Weave and Crest and Wren and Cody and Rex and all the rest of the clones he'd served with. They were all supposed to be the same, and he'd always taken comfort in that fact. He'd always liked being bound by blood to these men – yes, even the irascible Wren – because it was good to  _belong_ to something larger, to feel a sense of kinship and purpose, even if some of that purpose had been constructed into his earliest lessons.

But now he was unique. More so than when he'd developed a close connection with his general; more so than when he'd stopped caring so much about regs and protocol; more so than when he'd fallen in love with Kali.

Outwardly, he was the same as Milo or any of the others.

Inside, though, he was...different.

And that difference was going to cost him everything.

After today's performance, there would be no question of  _if_ he was truly Force-sensitive, or the extent of his abilities. Surely even the Kaminoan had all the data he could ever want by now.

No, the real question, at least for Stonewall, was what were they going to do to him and Milo?

The noises of the mess hall filtered through his mind but he tried to shut them out and reach Kali again, even if only briefly. He was still exhausted from his session with Creon, but he needed to talk to her. At the very least, he needed to touch her spirit and assure himself that she and their child were well.

He sensed...something. In his mind's eye, the feeling was akin to seeing a faint star, barely visible through the deep blanket of the night. It was a shadow of their bond, dim and threadbare, and not nearly enough to satisfy, but it was enough to know she was alive, even if so very far away.

Beyond that, though, he could tell nothing, and he was wary of the collar around his neck.

"Cred for your thoughts?" Milo asked.

Blinking, Stonewall looked at his  _vod,_ and realized he'd set his fork down in favor of staring blankly at his plate. He tried to give Milo a reassuring smile, but his mouth wouldn't work properly. "I'm really sorry about before, Mi."

The younger clone shifted his shoulder, but the movement seemed to be unconscious. "Forgiven, Stonewall. I know you didn't want to hurt me. And honestly," Milo winced, "whatever that long-neck did to me with those  _shabla_  sticky-things was much worse than your push. Never been attacked with the Force before," he added thoughtfully. "It was kind of interesting, actually."

"Sort of like being shoved by an invisible hand?"

Milo nodded. "Yeah. Wait...how do you know?"

Stonewall was able to offer his  _vod_ a real smile now. "Kali's thrown me around a little before." Milo's face reddened and the former captain winced. "Not...in a sexual way, Mi. Remember that time Lieutenant Wren and I were sparring, and it got out of hand?"

The mission had been about eight months ago. It had ended well-enough, but Stonewall and Wren had come to blows on more than one occasion. Kali had used the Force to break them apart at one point, much to Stonewall's embarrassment – and Wren's fury.

Milo's eyes widened as he nodded slowly. "Oh...yeah, I remember that." He chuckled and shook his head. "You would have had him."

Despite everything, Stonewall chuckled as well. "I like to think so."

Milo was quiet a moment, watching the young cadet move through the food-line. "Did Creon say what's going to happen to you?"

Stonewall looked back at his plate. It was one thing to think something, another to give voice to his fears. If he said them aloud, they would be true. But he couldn't keep this from Milo, both because there was no point in secrets any more, and because Mi deserved to know the truth.

"He didn't say, but I have an inkling. I think he wants to use me for...something."

"Like what?"

"I don't know." There were several possibilities, none of them pleasant. Stonewall shivered.

Someone stood beside Milo, who turned to look. A smile broke across his face at the sight of the young cadet, who held his full tray and was regarding Milo hopefully. Both clones sat up, and Stonewall was glad of the distraction.

"Here you go, Lev." Milo slid over on the bench and the cadet took a seat beside him, peering at Stonewall with open curiosity. Once the cadet was settled, Milo made introductions. "Stonewall, this is my new pal, Levy. Lev, this is my  _vod,_ Stonewall."

Stonewall saluted the lad, who ducked his head bashfully even as he grinned. The older clones exchanged amused looks, and began to eat again. After a moment, Milo cleared his throat and glanced between Stonewall and Levy. "I was telling him and the others about that mission with the invisible droids."

"That was...quite an experience," Stonewall replied, though he couldn't hold back a smile. It'd been an interesting mission all around, but the most notable changes had taken place in his and Kali's relationship. Thinking of happier times maybe should have made him more miserable, but thoughts of the woman he loved were always soothing, so he savored the brief respite from fear.

Levy sat up and looked between the older clones eagerly, a clear question in his eyes. Milo grinned and nudged his side. "Do you want more stories?"

The cadet nodded quickly, and Milo chuckled as he looked over at Stonewall. "What do you think? Mimban? Or how about all that business with Sanarl?" He glanced at Levy and dropped the pitch of his voice to be heavy with import. "We got to arrest  _the_ Shiv Sanarl."

Levy blanched and Milo winced. "Well, it started as an arrest, but we all wound up working together."

"What about Naboo?" Stonewall prompted. "Blarthy...?"

Milo's eyes lit up at the mention of the creature he happily would have adopted. "Oh! Yes. Blarthy. Now  _there's_ a fun story." He turned to the younger clone and began telling the tale, and Stonewall chuckled to himself at the way the lad regarded Mi with rapt attention.

 _He's not a shiny any longer, is he?_ No, despite his relentless optimism, Mi was no green soldier. He was capable and competent, and Stonewall realized with a pang that had they been back with the rest of Shadow, he'd have talked to Mi about a promotion. The others had always seemed content; it was not a fault, but rather an indication that they were where they wanted to be. Milo had been, to Stonewall's knowledge, happy to be a part of the squad, but nevertheless, he'd always striven to prove he could do  _more._

But that was impossible now. This realization was more than a pang, it was a shot in the heart. Stonewall was valuable to the long-necks; he would probably not be disposed of any time soon, though whatever else they did might make him wish for a swift death. But Milo was, to a Kaminoan's way of thinking, superfluous.

Unless, of course, they planned to use Mi to coerce Stonewall again.

Guilt shuddered through the former captain as he watched Milo chatting with the cadet, but he tried to fight the feeling back. Maybe there was something he could do. Maybe he could save Milo, somehow...

"Ah, I had a hunch you were back." The words came from Stonewall's right; he turned as Zero plopped down beside him, tray balanced on his single hand. Levy tensed and looked down, and Milo's jaw snapped shut as he frowned.

"What do you mean?" Stonewall asked. He didn't know Zero very well, other than he made odd jokes and Milo didn't seem to think too highly of the guy. But in all honesty, he'd not spoken more than a few words to the one-armed clone.

Zero dug into his protein cubes like they were a juicy, grilled roba steak. "Den's gone."

Milo glanced up. "Gone...where?"

The one-armed clone gave Milo a vaguely exasperated look. " _Gone_." He set his fork down and snapped his fingers. "Processed."

Stonewall's stomach tightened. "Processed...?"

"You know," Zero said with a sigh. "Den's in that big growth-jar in the stars. Permanently Discharged, as you soldier-types would say." He picked up his fork and began to eat again, frowning as though he were quite put out. "Lucky sod."

Milo and Stonewall exchanged glances; Stonewall noted the look of horror on his brother's face, though it smoothed over as he turned to Levy, who'd stopped eating and begun to stare at his plate, blinking fast.

Immediately, Milo put his arm around the cadet's trembling shoulders. "It's okay,  _vod_."

Zero rolled his eyes and looked at Stonewall. "I still don't understand why your friend bothers with the kid. It's beyond anyone's guess why he hasn't at  _least_ been reconditioned yet. I'd imagine that would solve all his lack-of-speech problems."

Stonewall frowned. "What do you mean?"

Zero chuckled and speared a piece of protein. "Process a unit...well, it's just so final, you know? And the Kaminoans don't like waste. But recondition him, and you can start over. You can take a defective clone like that," he indicated Levy, who flinched, "and make him brand-new. Wipe his memories clean and begin all over again. It's actually quite sensible."

"What the kriff is wrong with you?" Milo broke in, glaring at Zero. "How can you talk like that? Den was your  _brother._ "

"Like I told you before, we don't have brothers here," Zero replied with a shrug.

Milo's glare deepened. "Maybe not, but you still shouldn't speak of him like that. Have a little respect."

Zero's fork hit his plate with a clatter and his reply was forced out between clenched teeth. " _Respect?_  What's the point in respecting the dead? I  _envy_  Den. He's  _free_  of this place."

The room quieted for one moment before the monotone chatter picked up again. Stonewall was able to get a sense of Zero's emotions, though they were faint and not pleasant. Bitterness, sorrow, anger...and fear. It was everywhere, here, though each clone in The Dregs had it in different measures. Had he been without the limiting collar, Stonewall thought the feeling of fear would have choked him.

But over all those emotions, even the fear, was one thing.

_Acceptance._

Stonewall glanced around the mess hall as if seeing the other Sector Nine clones for the first time. He'd gotten a sense of it in bits and pieces, but only now did everything fall into alignment. The clones here spoke to one another, but it was by route. No one sat too close. No one smiled. No one joked around or traded stories of their days, because there was nothing to say. The lull of conversation was steady, but it had no spirit.

He looked back at Zero, who now ate his food without speaking, each movement practiced, smooth, and his eyes were blank. By contrast, Milo tried to comfort Levy, hugging him close and speaking in a light voice of happier times.

No other clone seemed to notice, or care. Stonewall didn't know who "Den" was, but he figured that none of the others here would mourn him, especially given what Milo had said. These men did not fight their fate. They did not curse their lot or their batch, or their situation. They simply existed from one moment to the next, and hoped for an end. They had nothing better; they never had.

The Dregs, indeed.

* * *

A/N: Kamino sucks. :( Take heart in the fact that percentage-wise, our time here is brief.

If you're familiar with my other fics, (specifically the  _Eye Of the Storm_ trilogy and  _Wild Blue Yonder_ ), you might recognize Levy. You'll also recognize the new POV appearing in the next chapter. ;) Also, consider the mention of Shadow Squad's mission with  **impoeia** 's OCs a teaser for a WIP fic.


	11. Chapter Ten

A/N: This chapter references events from  _Untouchable_ and _Old Wounds._

Lyrics: ["Carried," by KT Tunstall, from the album,  _Invisible Empire / Crescent Moon._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iYmQpTlhw4M&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp&index=11)

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

_Is every move a known footprint fossilized?_

_A rare remake, realized?_

_And if you fall too soon,_

_I'll carry you._

_On Coruscant..._

Jedi Knight Honi Tallis frowned at her patient but tried to keep her voice professional as she continued her questions. "Have you noticed swelling in any other areas?"

Master Vos chuckled and flashed her a wide smile. "Ah, come on, Tallis. You really want me to answer that?"

"I do." Honi leveled the Kiffar Jedi with her most stern look. "But only with a serious reply. No more jokes, Master Vos. This is your health at stake."

"You," Vos said with a sigh and a shake of his head that caused his dreadlocks to sway, "are not nearly as much fun as Kali."

"I," Honi replied sharply, "am  _not_ my former master. A fact you should be well-aware of. Now, please answer the question. I have other patients, and you're keeping me from them."

Quinlan Vos sighed again and leaned back against the biobed, folding his hands over his stomach and giving her a tolerant smile. "Nah, no other swelling. Just the foot. Kriff knows what I got into on Felucia, but it did  _not_ like me."

Nodding absently, Honi entered the information into her datapad, where she knew it would be transferred to the Kiffar Jedi's chart with only a few swipes of her fingertips. As she did, she brushed back a stray strand of coppery hair that had come loose from the braid pinned to her head. If she'd had a spare moment, she'd have redone her hair simply to keep it out of the way and prevent valuable time from being wasted, but as it was, she had a full day ahead.

The Halls of Healing were busier than usual, and Honi blamed it on the never-ending Wars. While the clone medics were adept at keeping each other and their Jedi alive on the battlefield, they were no substitutions for trained Jedi Healers like herself. As one of the few Jedi able to perform morichro, the act of putting a patient into Force-stasis, Honi was especially sought after, though most of her patients were Jedi. It seemed that the casualties had only increased lately, such that most days, Honi barely remembered to eat something. It wasn't her fault; there simply was no time.

Even Obi-Wan Kenobi was not immune, though thinking of the fallen Jedi made Honi far more weary than she should have been. When his light had faded, everything had seemed that much more hopeless, and a new, unspoken current of understanding had flooded the Temple; it was a sink-or-swim time for the Order, and every hand was needed to keep the Jedi afloat.

Rewarding work, to be sure, but sometimes, lately, it did not seem to be  _enough._

A familiar Force-presence reached her, so she glanced up, and sighed at the familiar, blue-skinned form of her Padawan as Zara trotted into Quinlan Vos' room. Agitation eddied around the teenage Nautolan-Twi'lek hybrid, and Zara's dark eyes were wide.

But Honi was in no mood. "Have you finished those cultures? We need to find out what's wrong with Master Vos."

"The answer changes depending on who you ask," the Kiffar Jedi supplied, winking at the Padawan.

Honi ignored him and studied her apprentice, who looked a bit shell-shocked. "Well?"

"Master Windu is looking for you," Zara blurted out, her multiple  _lekku_ trembling with emotion. "He asked me to tell you that he needs to speak with you immediately."

 _Of all the times..._ Sighing, Honi shook her head. "I'm quite busy – as you should be aware. Tell him I'll be one moment."

Zara blanched. "Um...are you sure...?"

"Of course I'm sure," Honi replied, lifting her chin.

"Because I think it's about your old–"

"Zara, I don't have time–"

"But I saw a story on the HoloNet about–"

"Run  _along_ , Zara," Honi broke in, shaking her head. "No more dawdling."

Once her Padawan scampered out of the room, Honi turned her attention back to the datapad. She'd collected all the research she could about plant species native to Felucia, and narrowed them down to those that were known to cause topical irritation. One Jedi's swollen foot was not a great cause for concern, but there were quite a few clone companies on the jungle world, not to mention several other Jedi. If there was a plant – or she supposed it could have been a fungus – that caused this sort of issue, it should be ascertained immediately.

"Wow. Putting Mace off like that." Vos clucked his tongue. "Ballsy. Maybe you  _are_ Kali's Padawan."

Honi huffed and glanced at him. "I'm doing important medical research for the good of the entire Order. I didn't put Master Windu off; I simply can't drop everything I'm doing at a moment's notice. And," she added sharply, "I don't know what you're implying by constantly referring to my former Master, but you should know that I haven't seen or spoken to Kalinda in Force-knows how long, so I don't–"

"Well, that answers  _one_  of my questions."

The familiar, deep baritone of Mace Windu sent ice down Honi's spine and made her stomach twist. Still, she managed to turn and give a smooth bow to the second-most senior member of the Jedi Order, who was regarding her with one of his trademark frowns. Zara stood a pace behind him, hands wringing and  _lekku_ flushing indigo with barely-restrained agitation.

The only person seemingly  _not_ affected by Mace Windu was Quinlan Vos, who gave a lazy, two-fingered salute. "Hey, Mace. How's it hanging?"

Master Windu's dark eyes flickered to him, but the Korunn Jedi's gaze soon fell back on Honi. "I'd like to speak with you privately, Knight Tallis," he said, adding a firm, " _Now_."

Honi knew when she was beaten, but she didn't have to like it. She handed Zara her 'pad and leveled her own stern gaze at the blue-skinned girl. "Finish questioning Master Vos. But don't transfer anything to his chart until one of the Healers has had a chance to look the data over. And don't–"

Master Windu cleared his throat and Honi sighed. "Very well."

As she followed Windu out of Vos' room, she heard the Kiffar Jedi's perplexed voice. "Is she always like that?"

"Pretty much," was Zara's reply. "You get used to it, though."

Neither Honi nor Windu spoke as they moved through the Halls of Healing, brushing past a multitude of other patients, mostly Jedi, though it was not uncommon to see a few clone troopers who'd been placed here for extra care. Truthfully, Honi hardly spared them a glance; she was one of the more proficient Healers, so her skills were usually directed solely toward other Jedi.

They reached an empty examination room, and Honi felt a thrill of foreboding as Master Windu activated the lock, and another when he crossed his arms and regarded her with dark eyes that missed nothing. "When was the last time you saw Kalinda Halcyon?"

"It's been quite some time. I saw her not long after the skirmish at Basrah – she needed a Healer – but that was nearly two years ago. The last time we  _spoke_ was when she comm'd me about eight months ago."

"What did she want?"

Honi frowned in thought. "I'm not sure. She was rather vague, even for her."

Master Windu's gaze sharpened. "Explain."

"She asked me if I'd ever heard of a Force-sensitive gaining their abilities later in life, after they'd matured. I hadn't – it's impossible, of course – and when I told her so, and asked her why  _she_ was asking, she indicated it was purely hypothetical."

Shortly after  _that_  odd conversation, Kalinda had questioned Honi about her love-life, which had naturally prompted Honi to end the call as soon as possible; in retrospect, she wondered if her former Master hadn't done so on purpose, to keep her from asking too many questions. But there was no reason to go into that now, as it was speculation without a basis in fact.

Instead, Honi sighed and smoothed back an errant strand of coppery hair. "I know it's an odd thing to ask, but Kalinda has always had a...wayward imagination, so I didn't press the issue. I saw no reason to."

Master Windu nodded slowly, but his gaze was distant, unfocused, and she was certain he was trying to reach out through the Force. Since the probing wasn't directed at her, and given his concern about Kalinda, it was reasonable to assume he was looking for the other Jedi, though  _why_ he couldn't just comm her was beyond Honi's ken.

A host of unpleasant theories began to form in Honi's mind. Her former master had a penchant for getting into unorthodox situations, but she could be reckless and impulsive, and far too often let her emotions sway her actions. Ever since Honi had learned that Kalinda had been drafted into service with a squad of clones, she'd found herself thinking of her former master more and more, and hoping that the dark-haired woman kept herself safe. For all of her foibles, Kalinda Halcyon had been a kind and patient teacher.

"What's wrong?" she asked, drawing Windu's eyes her way. "Is Kalinda alright? Has she been wounded?"

"As far as I know, she is unharmed."

"Then...what's going on?"

The Jedi Master frowned and shook his head. "It is not your concern, Knight Tallis. You may return to your duties. However, if you hear from Kalinda Halcyon, you are to contact me immediately. Is that clear?"

Honi nodded and he brushed past her, unlocking the door and slipping into the main room without another word. Frowning to herself, Honi hurried back to Vos' room, in case Zara had made a mistake. As she arrived, the blue-skinned girl was stepping out into the corridor, happily waving goodbye to Master Vos.

"Master!" Zara said, holding out the 'pad. "It went fine. Here's the data you asked for."

Honi accepted the 'pad and scanned the information, though her thoughts were light-years away. After a moment she glanced at her Padawan, who met her gaze hopefully. "What is it?"

Zara hesitated, then dropped her voice to a whisper. "Can you tell me what Master Windu wanted?"

The Halls of Healing were busy, but Honi knew from experience that no one cared about personal conversations when they had mountains of work to do. A Jedi and her Padawan gossiping in the corridor would garner little attention. Still, that didn't mean she was obligated to tell Zara anything.

"He just had some questions for me," she said after a beat. "Nothing important. Now, about those cultures–"

But Zara's eyes were wide, black pools, swirling with excitement. "Was it about Knight Halcyon?"

Now, Honi glanced around, worried that someone would overhear, even unwittingly. There was a cluster of Healers about ten paces away, so Honi grabbed Zara's arm and steered her back into Vos' room.

"Why would you ask that?" she asked as soon as she shut the door behind them.

Zara frowned. "I was trying to tell you before, Master. It's on the HoloNet."

"What is?" This came from Quinlan Vos, who now sat up in his bed and regarded Zara with interest.

Honi glared at him, but before she could move Zara to another, less occupied area, Zara continued, glancing between her master and the Kiffar Jedi. "No one knows for sure, but they're saying that Knight Halcyon has defected from the Jedi Order."

Honi's mouth opened but no sound came out.

She was the only one.

"Holy kriffing hell!" Vos exclaimed. "Are you fragging kidding me? Kali's AWOL? When? What happened? How? Does anyone know where she is now?"

"This doesn't concern you," Honi snapped at him, but he ignored her and regarded Zara, who began to rock back and forth on her heels,  _lekku_ trembling.

"I don't know," Zara said, shaking her head. "It was just a blurb I happened to catch at lunch. No one knows any details, except there's something about her running off with some clones...?"

Vos snorted and crossed his arms before his chest; he would have looked quite foreboding if not for the flimsi sheet he wore as a robe. "Clones. Figures. Sometimes, I think those fekkers are more trouble than they're worth."

"Watch your language," Honi replied sharply, hoping to hide her own agitation. "Zara's only fourteen. Far too young to be influenced by the likes of you."

But the Kiffar Jedi didn't seem to notice her ire. "Kriffing hell. Hey, can I borrow that datapad, Tallis? I need to check the HNN."

"This one is mine," Honi said, ushering Zara toward the door. "But I'll have another sent to you in a moment." Without another word, she urged her Padawan out of the Kiffar Jedi's room and shut the door behind them, hastily entering the code for "do not disturb" on the lock panel. That would keep him occupied for a little while, at least.

"Master...?"

Not speaking, Honi grabbed Zara's arm and hurried to the room where Master Windu had questioned her; thankfully, it was still vacant. The moment she locked the door, she turned to her Padawan, who looked nothing short of terrified.

"Where did you read about Kalinda?"

Zara pointed to the datapad in Honi's hand. "It was one of the 'breaking news' pages on the HoloNet. You can probably see it if you do a search..."

As quickly as she could, Honi activated the HNN link on the 'pad, entered Kalinda's name, and stared at the results in disbelief. It was a small story, only a single paragraph, likely the result of someone being at the right place at the right time.

_Witnesses report seeing Jedi Knight Kalinda Halcyon using what is believed to be a "Force-push" against a squad of GAR soldiers after they attempted to detain her on the Coruscant Guard barracks' landing platform. The Coruscant Guard commander declined to comment, but other eyewitnesses indicated that Halcyon and three unidentified clone troopers fled the area after the attack. When questioned about the event, including Halcyon's potential motives for defection, the Jedi Council also declined to comment, stating only that the matter was "an internal affair of the Order."_

"Master?"

Honi blinked. She'd read the article three times, but it still made no sense.  _She's always walked her own path, but I never thought..._

What was going on? Why had Kalinda defected? A dozen possibilities flew through Honi's mind, but she discarded them one-by-one as she considered her former Master's fate. On the run, with three clone soldiers in tow but without the Temple's resources. Assuming Kalinda had not left Coruscant, there were only a few places she likely would have gone, and Honi knew them all. Kalinda had trained her well.

A light touch on her arm brought her out of her haze, and she looked up into Zara's wide, almost all-black eyes. "Master Tallis?"

The girl's voice was soft and uncertainty rippled from her, so Honi tried to control her own emotions, which were oddly out-of-balance. Kalinda was not her Master any longer. Their time together had ended years ago, and though they were still on friendly terms, there was no reason for her to feel this... _agitation_  over the dark-haired woman who'd taken her on after her first Master had been killed.

Zara said her name again, and this time it was enough to snap Honi completely out of her haze. She deactivated the 'pad and tucked it into a pocket of her Healer's robes, then glanced at her Padawan. "I'm fine, Zara. Just...startled."

Zara nodded, but her  _lekku_ still shivered. "I wonder what happened to make her leave?"

It was no secret that Kalinda Halcyon had never seen eye-to-eye with the Council, but surely matters would not have reached the breaking point. Perhaps Obi-Wan could have talked some sense into his friend, but of course that was impossible.

"I don't know," Honi admitted, frowning.

The Padawan's eyes grew larger than normal. "This is really bad, isn't it? I've never heard of anyone leaving like this...not since Count Dooku! Do you think she's turned to the dark side? Do you think they'll put a bounty on her? Do you think she'll get thrown into prison? And why would she run off with clones?"

Honi's breath caught in her chest, and she found herself leaning against the nearest biobed as if she needed the support. She had to find Kalinda. There were too many questions, and so few answers. She told herself that it was her Healer's nature to want to shift the balance.

But it was a lie.

* * *

_Elsewhere..._

_Shadows clutch at her, trying to pull her down, down, like the strong hand that coils in her hair and pushes her to her knees. When she looks up, she sees only shadows. There is nothing of the man she loves within the lines of his body._

_"_ _Look at me."_

_Is it her voice, or his? They used to be so different, but she cannot tell any longer._

_A blank stare meets hers; his helmet tilts and she sees her own reflection cast back. Her eyes are wide and streaked with wet, and she is more afraid than she has ever been in her life. She has never been afraid in his presence, so it must be true – he must be gone._

_"_ _Look at me. Open your eyes, and_ look _at me."_

 _She can't think, can hardly breathe. Her heart lashes against her ribcage as if trying to break her body to pieces, and the ground is hard and unyielding beneath her knees. She can see her face in his, a dark mirror of what she is supposed to be. What_ they _were supposed to be._

_All around, weapons fire; the bolts are a timpani that ricochet around the galaxy. They scatter through the shadows and consume whoever stands in their way, and she is helpless against them too._

_"_ _Please," she manages, reaching to him. "Please...look at me."_

_But her voice is small and timid, and the scream of blaster-fire is so much easier to hear, and he does not reply..._

Kalinda gasped as she sat up in bed. Her heart pounded, her body was coated in a layer of sweat, and she had no kriffing idea where she was. There was light outside her window, but it was wrong, neon pink and flashing. The room was unfamiliar, as was the bed, and it felt too empty. Something chirruped beside her, but before she could reach for the comlink, the door to the room slid open and three men burst inside. They spoke almost in unison.

Trax was at her side first, light-brown eyes fixed on hers. "What's wrong?"

"Are you okay?" Weave asked, scanner in one hand, hypo in another.

Crest was last, glancing around the room warily as if making sure it was clear. "What can we do to help?"

Her comlink chimed again, and she shook her head once, still trying to shake the dream away. Taung Heights...she was in Taung Heights, in an apartment of Dex's that he'd graciously let her and the guys use for the time being.

"It's okay...I'm fine." She glanced at the comlink and noted that it was the morning after...well, everything, along with the source of the incoming message. "I need to get this..."

The guys relaxed and stepped back, though Weave still held his scanner. None of them left. As she accepted the transmission, she glanced down to make sure she was clothed, as she had no memory of coming to bed last night.  _Yes, thank the Force._

A familiar figure bloomed from the holo-link, and Kali did not miss how Crest took a step back as Sita Hari, the queen of the planet Aruna, appeared before Kali, small and blue and flickering. Her white hair, common among her people, was fashioned in an elaborate crown of braids on top of her head, she was dressed in swathes of shimmersilk and dripping with jewelry, and her expression was nothing short of terrified.

" _There_ you are," Sita said by way of greeting, though she did offer a short bow almost as an afterthought. "Gods above and below...I was worried half to death!"

 _I suppose this means she got my message, at any rate._ Kali smoothed out her hair and sat up, crossing her legs and trying not to feel  _quite_  so awkward speaking to the queen of an entire planet while in her sleep-clothes with the guys looking on. Also, she really, really had to use the 'fresher. "Er...I'm sorry?"

The Arunai woman frowned, though it was not in irritation. Kali knew her well enough to recognize the look as one of confusion. "I only just received your message, but I saw the news story last night. What is going on?"

The clones exchanged bewildered looks, and Kali's stomach knotted. "Sita, I just woke up, and haven't quite caught up to the rest of the galaxy. What news story?"

Sita took a deep breath and seemed to have to work to gather her calm. Indeed, a moment later her chin lifted and her face smoothed into the carefully neutral expression favored by politicians. She was younger than Kali by a number of years, in her mid-twenties, but she carried herself like someone much older. It had not always been so. When Kali had first met her, Sita was a farmer's daughter whose life had taken a fantastical turn; she'd fallen in love with the king of Aruna, who had wanted her crowned his queen. Due to Aruna's rigid caste-system, there'd been some...growing pains, naturally, but despite the impossibility of the situation, Sita had handled her new life with grace. It had helped that she'd been very much in love.

Until the king had died, and she'd been left to a task for which she was wholly unprepared. Sita had loved her husband, but she'd had little clue how to rule a planet, and there had been those who'd sought to push her out of the throne. Kali, Shadow Squad, and Obi-Wan had helped restore order to Aruna.

Stonewall had also gotten use of the Force on that world, but that was still something of a mystery.

Once she'd collected herself, Sita knelt before the holo-transmitter in the Arunai fashion, placing her hands in her lap and sitting still as she spoke in her musical accent. "There is a story on the Coruscant HoloNet," she began quietly. "It is brief, but quite incriminating. Apparently, you have defected from the Jedi Order."

She paused to enter something into her transmitter, but Kali hardly noticed. Her heart had dropped to her stomach and her mouth hung open in shock. She glanced over to the guys, all of whom looked about as stunned as she felt, though Weave had whipped out his datapad and was furiously entering information.

Kali's comlink buzzed again and Sita exhaled. "I sent you the story so you may see for yourself. But it is as I have said."

"I haven't..." Kali rubbed her temple, trying to focus. "I haven't defected, Sita. I'm just..." She sighed and shook her head. "Well, I haven't  _officially_  defected, but I suppose that's where this was headed."

They were probably going to kick her out anyway. Force knew she'd flaunted enough of their rules even  _before_ she'd taken up with her clone captain; purposefully getting pregnant – and secretly married – was probably grounds for expulsion.

Weave cleared his throat. "Is that transmission secured?"

"This is my private comm station." Sita's head swiveled, though Kali knew she couldn't have seen the clones where they stood; even so, Crest took a step back, rubbing his hands nervously. "Your men are with you?" she asked Kali.

"Most of them," she replied, feeling her throat get tight all over again. "Actually, that's why I wanted to talk to you."

She gave Sita a brief summary of the events that had led them here, though she left out Stone's Force-abilities, focusing only on their relationship, and the fact that he and Milo had been sent away. Until she knew for certain who'd ordered Stonewall's arrest, there was no reason to share his Force-sensitivity; nor did it much matter at this point. He was gone. She  _would_  get him back, but for now...he was gone.

As Kali spoke, the young queen listened solemnly, interrupting only to ask a few clarifying questions. Once Sita had been caught up, Kali paused and glanced at the clones again. Traxis stood by the bedroom door, one hand resting on a pistol he wore at his hip, gaze fixed on the interior of the apartment, ever-watchful. Weave stood at the room's center, eyes darting across his datapad as he absorbed whatever information he'd found. Crest was about as far away from the comlink as he could be; he stood beside the room's single, large window and peered outside, though he cast occasional glances at the holographic figure.

Though Stonewall's time on Aruna was more...formative, Crest had not left the world without making some new memories; not long after they'd left, he'd told Kali about the kiss he'd shared with the young queen. Kali didn't know much more than that – the bald clone had been remarkably laconic about the event – but she figured it was the reason Crest was reluctant to see Sita, or be seen by her.

Kali took a deep breath and met Sita's gaze. "Regardless of what anyone else thinks I've done, I doubt that my own life is in danger. But the guys..." She trailed off, unwilling to voice the uncomfortable truth.

But Traxis, apparently, had no such qualms. "An AWOL clone is useless to the army," he put in from the doorway, loud enough for Sita to hear; the Arunai woman's brows knitted and she tilted her head as if trying to see the speaker. "It means he doesn't follow orders. Soldiers who don't follow orders are fekked."

Sita frowned and Kali tried to clarify. "If they are captured now, they will probably not be allowed to live. I must do everything in my power to make sure they are safe."

At her words, Trax and Crest looked over, clearly startled, but Weave continued to scan his 'pad. Kali would have smiled had worry not been knotting her stomach. "The reason I comm'd you was to ask...if you could possibly send a ship, perhaps give them asylum of some kind while we figure out our next move."

"Now, hang on... We're not crazy!" Crest broke in, apparently forgetting that he was trying not to be noticed by the woman in the holo, who started and turned toward him.

Weave glanced up at this. "Wrong kind of asylum,  _vod._ She means she wants us to have some kind of official sanction so we won't be able to be arrested – by anyone, even the GAR. She's asking for Queen Hari to protect us."

All the clones looked at Kali, who nodded. "Exactly." She looked back at Sita. "I know it's a lot to ask, but I'm about out of options."

She didn't miss Weave's furrowed brow – likely he was thinking about Kali's conversation with Ro yesterday – but she didn't say anything as she waited for the young queen's reply.

After what felt like a long time, Sita shook her head, and Kali's stomach sank. "I am afraid it is not that simple," she replied slowly. "I may be queen, but there are laws that prevent me from extending such protections to those not physically  _on_ Aruna, particularly those in legal trouble with the Republic.

"However," Sita slanted Kali a faint smile, "There is nothing that prohibits me from safeguarding those who reach my world of their own means. Do you understand?"

"If they can make it to Aruna, they'll be safe," Kali said, nodding.

Sita made a graceful bow. "For a while, at the very least. I will look into the legality of the situation, but I am confident there is a solution. In the meantime, once they reach my world, your men will be protected from even the Republic's reach. An arrest warrant  _could_  potentially be issued, but it would likely take months to procure, let alone enforce..."

She trailed off, leaving Kali to draw her own conclusions, and the two women exchanged knowing looks. The knot in Kali's stomach relaxed a bit, and she exhaled deeply. For once, it seemed that the bloated bureaucracy might work in the clones' favor. She and Sita discussed a few more details before ending the transmission.

The moment the holographic image died, Weave cleared his throat. "What about...?"

"Altis?" Kali swung her feet over the bed's edge and stood up, stretching out her legs and shoulders, which felt cramped. With the quieting of her nerves, she'd realized she was actually hungry; even better, there was no trace of morning-sickness today. Small mercies.

Though, of course, the pressure on her bladder was reaching critical levels.

Crest had come back over, regarding the comlink with an unreadable expression; Traxis kept his vigil by the door, though he was likely listening to every word.

Weave nodded. "Ro seemed to think we'd be welcome with the Altisian Jedi."

"No doubt you would," Kali replied. "But in my experience, it's wise to have a backup plan or two, in case matters don't play out as you expect." She looked over at Crest, who lifted his brow in inquiry. "You didn't have any leftovers from Dex's last night, did you? I think I could eat an entire ronto."

Crest rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm. Rontos are pretty chewy, but I'll bet I can whip something up that you'll like better. Want some caf, too?"

"No caf," Weave blurted out, causing everyone to look at him. Kali frowned, and he shook his head quickly. "Uh...for anyone. We're going to get hooked on the stuff."

"Too effing late," Trax muttered, rolling his eyes as he slipped out of the bedroom. Crest followed, with the medic on his heels, and Kali was left alone.

She would have dwelled on Weave's outburst, but for the fact that she'd rushed to the 'fresher.

* * *

About an hour later, Kali felt a great deal more Human. A shower and change of clothes had done wonders, though she figured she'd have to find something other than her robes to wear; for being made of simple, beige cloth, they stood out rather sharply as they branded her a Jedi.

She was not scheduled to meet the bounty hunter, Ares Tabora, for several hours, so Kali found herself in an unwelcome period of respite. The guys were able to keep busy with what seemed like an endless reorganization of their supplies, but she was at something of a loss as to what to do with herself.

So she did the unthinkable. She meditated.

Like all Jedi, Kali was adept at meditating in any environment, including noisy ones filled with clones who cleaned their weapons, chattered to one another, and scoured the HoloNet for any useful information. Perhaps she could have shut herself in the apartment's single bedroom, but she had no wish to be alone right now, and the familiar cadence of their voices was a comfort.

Kali sat on the couch and concentrated on her breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Worry tugged at the edges of her mind, and for once she did not try to push the feeling away, because she knew it would not go. The man she loved – her husband, the father of her child – was gone, possibly for good; another man she considered family was lost with him; the men who'd bound themselves to her fate without hesitation were likely branded criminals and would be killed should they be captured; her child's future was uncertain, at best.

There was much to worry about. But pushing the feeling back would only cause it to gain strength, so Kali allowed it to filter through her thoughts, allowed it to sweep over her. It was useless, at first, and the more she focused on her fears, the more they pulled apart her heart and mind. There was so much that could go wrong, so much that could be lost, that she could lose...

 _Inhale_ ; she gathered up her fears, her worries, her frustrations.  _Exhale_ ; she released them into the Force. They were not gone, but if she was going to help anyone, she needed to be calm. She could not be afraid of what the future would bring.  _Here_  and  _now_ ; those were the only two things she could control, so those were what needed to hold the bulk of her focus. The future and the past were important to keep in her awareness, but the present deserved the most attention.

Inhale. Exhale.

Kali lost herself to the eddies of the Force, reaching out with her awareness just to get a sense of the energy around her. The guys were worried, as she was, but they had thrown themselves into their respective tasks with admirable determination. She felt their attentions shift to her periodically, but they were used to her habits and knew better than to disturb her when she was doing her "Jedi-thing," as Crest often spoke of it.

Beneath the worry, though, was affection and a resounding confidence in her, which both humbled and bewildered Kali. She did not think herself as capable as they seemed to, but their belief in her bolstered her own strength, and she resolved to show them their faith was not misplaced. Her guys; her family. They were marvels, every one.

Smiling to herself, Kali extended her awareness a little farther. What she found was a determined mind, one whose focus was sharper than nearly anyone Kali had ever met, particularly when the mind's owner had set herself upon a task. However, along with those familiar feelings, there was an undercurrent of worry, centered on Kalinda, and it was this that made the dark-haired Jedi truly curious. There was no malice in Honi's thoughts, but it was unusual for her emotions to be so...unfettered.

It had been some time since Kali had crossed paths with her former apprentice. What in the stars Honi did expect to accomplish by seeking her out? With any luck, she'd find out soon.

Kali opened her eyes, blinking slowly as she pulled herself from the trance, and cleared her throat. "Crest?"

"Yeah, Boss?"

She sighed. Old habits died hard. Still, it was better than 'General.' "Would you heat up some more of that tea you made for me? We're about to have a visitor."

"Are you effing serious?" Traxis sprang to his feet, rifle in one hand, pistol in the other as he lunged for the door.

Crest and Weave rose as well, though neither reached for their weapons. The bald clone shifted and glanced her way. "Er...friendly or unfriendly?"

Kali considered how to answer the question. "Friendly. I think. It's hard to say with her sometimes." She shrugged and indicated the kitchen. "No matter what, I'd like to offer her some tea..."

"Sure! Why the kriff not?" Crest shook his head in confusion, but slipped off to the kitchen.

While Traxis peered through the viewscreen affixed to the door, one that gave a panoramic view of the hallway, Weave moved to Kali's side. "Who is it?"

Kali smiled at him, but before she could respond, the chime on the lock panel by the door sounded. Traxis, being the closest to the panel, activated it; the viewscreen switched to a feed from an outside monitor, revealing a fair-skinned, coppery haired Human woman.

"Who the fek are you?" Trax growled into the speaker.

Honi frowned. "I should ask that of  _you_."

Kali stood up and headed to the door; she gently urged Trax out of the way to greet her former Padawan. "Good to see you, Honi. Crest is making some tea for us, so I'll ring you up."

Without waiting for a response, she shut off the viewscreen and touched the panel, allowing Honi access; she'd not given out her location, just in case, but she knew Honi would be able to find her way up. Kriff, she'd gotten this far.

Once the viewscreen was dark, Trax glowered at her; given his scar, it was quite a ferocious expression. "Kali, who the kriff is that woman? She looked like a vaping Jedi."

"She  _is_  a vaping Jedi," Kali replied, pleased that he'd called her by her nickname.  _Finally. It only took what, two years and a major tragedy?_ Though they'd not spoken privately since their talk last night, he seemed more at ease around her, and him using her nickname confirmed her feeling.

At this, the guys all straightened, and she could practically feel them going into battle-mode. "Are you certain that's wise?" Weave asked. "Can she be trusted?"

"I don't know," Kali admitted with a shake of her head. "But I sensed nothing...amiss in her intentions, and I would like to see my old Padawan."

Several minutes later there was another chime at the door. Kali had taken a seat at the rounded dining table, along with two steaming mugs of tea, while Crest and Weave sat on the couch, watching the door with wariness. Traxis had insisted upon playing bouncer, though Kali had had to dissuade him from doing so while armed to the teeth. She glanced over at the  _hiss_ of the opening door and watched in amusement as her former Padawan eyed the armored clone up and down, clearly unimpressed with his formidable presence.

"Where is she?" It was less a question and more a demand.

Trax's reply was equally as curt. "Inside."

The tightness of his voice indicated he was grinding his teeth, likely because he'd wanted to confiscate any weapons Honi might be carrying, but Kali had refused him that, too. It was another testament to the renewed trust between them that he had offered no argument besides a deep scowl and a few choice swears.

Kalinda rose as Honi stepped into the apartment, and watched her former apprentice take her in. Even the Wars had not changed Honi Tallis. She was still tall and lean, her face was still angular, her eyes still that sharp, clear blue. The severity of her features was mitigated by a sprinkle of freckles along her nose and the apples of her cheeks, and the bright hair that seemed perpetually unruly, despite Honi's attempts to tame it with pins and braids. She was dressed in her Jedi robes, as Kali was, but she also carried a canvas bag slung over one shoulder.

Honi's gaze swept over her, as did the younger woman's inquiring Force-presence, which Kali did not recoil from. Most Jedi would have asked permission before prodding another, but tact had never been one of Honi's strong suits.

After a moment, Honi set down her bag and gave Kalinda an exasperated look. "Taung Heights? Really?"

"It was the best I could do on short notice and minimal creds."

Honi frowned and glanced at the clones on the couch. "And  _they're_  here because...?"

"Because they're part of my team," Kali answered easily. Her words were emphasized as Traxis stepped toward the table, halting beside her chair with a stony  _don't-try-anything-funny_  expression.

Honi was silent a moment, clearly waiting for more explanation, but Kalinda did not offer one. It would happen soon enough, and she wanted to get a sense of exactly why the other woman had come before she revealed too much. Just in case.

After a moment, Honi sighed and rubbed her forehead. "Are you well? You seem...different."

Alarm coursed through Kali, and she silently cursed herself for not thinking of this sooner. Honi was a top-notch Healer, adept at diagnosing patients simply through a careful brush with the Force. If anyone in the galaxy would know she was pregnant just by  _looking_ , it was Honi Tallis.

Rather than answer directly, Kali sat and indicated the chair opposite her. "Have a seat. I think there's a few things we need to discuss."

Before Honi reached the table, she offered the canvas bag to Weave, who accepted it carefully. "Some old things of mine and Zara's," Honi said as she sat down opposite Kali. "A few changes of clothing and other...necessities." She slanted Kali a knowing look. "I would have preferred to bring you your own items, but given the conversation I had with Master Windu, I thought it would be unwise to be seen anywhere near your quarters."

Kali stared at her old Padawan, trying to sift through the dozens of questions that had sprung up from Honi's speech. At last she leaned back in her chair and sipped her tea. "Zara?"

"My Padawan."

It took every ounce of self-control Kali possessed  _not_ to spit out her drink. As it was, she began to cough, and a few droplets of tea sputtered across the table. " _You_  have a Padawan? Since  _when_?"

Honi's brows furrowed. "A few months, now. All Knights are expected to take Padawans, Kalinda. It's how things are done."

"I know." Kali swiped her sleeve across the spilled tea, pointedly ignoring Honi's look of disapproval. "It's just...I always thought you'd be the exception to the rule." She glanced at Traxis, who was glowering at the copper-haired Jedi. "Honi's not known for her patience."

"Hard to believe," the scarred clone replied blandly.

"In  _any_  case," Honi broke in, "Zara had some old things she wasn't using any longer, as did I, and I assumed that you would have need of some new gear. You're welcome."

Kalinda smiled and reached past her tea to clasp Honi's slender hand in her own. "You've always looked out for me, Honi. Thank you for doing so, now.  _Especially_  now."

The other Jedi's pale cheeks flushed and she looked down, waves of embarrassment rippling off of her, along with a measure of satisfaction. "Yes...well, you've done much the same for me on more occasions than I can count. It was the right thing to do."

Nodding, Kali released her former Padawan's hand and leaned back in her chair. "You mentioned Mace?"

Honi was still and silent. Her expression darkened, just for a moment, until her forehead smoothed and she nodded slowly. "Yes. He sought me out this morning. He wanted to know if I had seen or spoken to you recently."

Where a cautious wariness had emanated from all the clones, now their mood collectively shifted to one of outright frustration, heavily laced with anger and dashed with helplessness. Weave and Crest straightened as if about to run over, though a look from Kali made them keep their place.

However, Traxis, still standing at Kali's shoulder, gave a snarl of fury and leaned forward, jabbing his finger toward Honi. "Is that why you came here? To report her to General-effing-Windu?"

"Trax..."

But he didn't listen; instead, he pitched his voice to a lower, more threatening register. "If you karking want her, you'll have to get through us. And I don't play nice."

Honi stared at him, unflinching. "That's an incredibly short leap of logic. Why would I bring her new clothes if I intended to turn her over to the Council?"

"It makes for a good cover." Weave's voice sounded closer. Kali glanced over and realized he and Crest had risen from the couch and were coming to stand behind her as well.

"Yeah," Crest added, crossing his arms before his chest as he frowned at Honi. "You could run back to the Temple and let those Jedi bigwigs know  _right_  where to find Kalinda."

Honi's nostrils flared as she drew herself up, indignation pouring off of her. "That's absurd. I would never do anything of the kind."

This was getting out of hand. Kali loved her guys, but they were going to get themselves decapitated if they stayed in "protective-soldier mode." She cleared her throat. "Guys, calm down, okay? We're all on the same side. More or less."

"It's the 'less' part that bothers us," Crest muttered.

Kalinda exhaled deeply and looked at her former apprentice. "Are you going to tell Mace where I am or what I'm doing?"

To her surprise, Honi was quiet a moment. Through the Force, Kali sensed that Honi's indignation had faded to a kind of reluctant acquiescence, until she shook her head. "No, Kalinda. That was never my intention, though I admit I do harbor the hope that you will return with me."

Kali gave her a sad smile. "I'm afraid that's not possible right now."

"As I gathered." Honi sighed again and rested her hands on the table and studied the dark-haired Jedi carefully. "What happened?"

"Oh, this old song and dance again," Crest broke in, his voice weary. "I'm going to the 'fresher. Someone call me if something interesting happens."

A scandalized look crossed Honi's face, but Kali only chuckled. "Copy that, Crest." She regarded her former Padawan for a beat before she began to explain. "It's a long story. The holo-digest version is that I've formed an attachment to one of my men. When the Council found out, they put me on probation."

Honi's eyes widened as she glanced between Weave and Traxis, and her thoughts were plain. Kali raised a hand to catch Honi's attention. "He's not here, Honi. Captain Stonewall was sent to Kamino, along with Milo, another member of my team."

"They sent your captain to Kamino because you," she grimaced, "cared for him?"

"Not quite." Kali took a deep breath; this part she had not revealed to Sita, but it was difficult to keep secrets around Honi. "Do you remember when I comm'd you about someone gaining Force-sensitivity after they'd matured?"

Honi nodded briskly, but Kali was silent, allowing the other woman to draw her own conclusions. It didn't take long. A few seconds later, Honi's mouth fell open in shock, and she leaned forward, eyes fixed on Kali's face. "It's not possible."

"Apparently it is."

"No, Kalinda. It's not. It  _can't_ be. A  _clone_?"

"Yes, a kriffing  _clone,_ " Traxis broke in darkly.

Honi shook her head and gave Kali a helpless look. "You were serious. I thought you'd had a peculiar dream or something..."

"Well, I've had my share of  _those_ , but this was no dream, I assure you."

"But how?" Honi said. "The Force is not a...virus that can be transmitted."

Weave coughed into his hand. "That's what I said, actually. And there've been no known cases of Force-sensitivity spreading between sentients other than being passed via genetics."

Kali glanced at him. "When in the Nine Hells did you find the time to do research on  _that_  subject?"

He shrugged. "I made the time. This is important; we need all the intel we can get."

Honi's eyes flickered to him, but mostly remained fixed on her former master. "The Council knows? They sent this...Stonewall to Kamino?"

"Only Obi-Wan knew about Stone's Force-abilities," Kali replied. "Nothing was said to me about it when the Council put me on probation, but Stone was arrested at the same time. It seems a bit too much of a coincidence, and I'm not sure what to think."

The familiar weight curled in her stomach, but Kali managed to keep her words steady. "All I know is that he's gone and we're going to get him back."

Honi was silent a moment, then she shook her head. "I suppose it's too late to lecture you on the dangers of attachment."

"Much too late. And it's been done before, by much wiser Jedi than either of us." Kali offered a wry smile. "For all the good it did."

"All joking aside, you must take care, Kalinda." Honi's voice softened, but was still solemn. "The Jedi are looking for you and your men, as is the GAR. There's even a story on the HoloNet."

Kali rolled her eyes. "I'd hardly call that little blurb a  _story_."

Honi's chin dropped and her eyes lidded, and, to Kali's astonishment, she bit her lip; all at once she was no longer the competent, abrasive Healer, but the teenaged girl who'd watched her first Master die on an ill-fated mission. When Kalinda had met Honi Tallis, she'd resolved to give Honi the kind of compassion she had been denied by the Jedi Order.

After a long moment, Honi met Kali's eyes again. "Have you truly defected?"

Kalinda did not answer at first. In truth, she had not taken the time to really consider her own future; she'd been so focused on rescuing Stonewall and Milo, and making provisions for her men, that she'd not decided where her own path should head. Despite this, there was at least  _one_  certainty she held. She would ensure that her and Stone's child had the best life it could, whether it be with the Altisians or on Aruna. But the little spark within her seemed so tiny; it was almost impossible to believe that it would one day grow to be a  _person_. And in the meantime, there were so many roads to be traveled, it was difficult to know where to begin, or even how.

The future was full of shadows, and Kali could see no clear way through.

"I am a Jedi, Honi. I have always been a Jedi. I never wanted to be anything else, even when it was clear that I wasn't really a good one. But it seems I can't be a Jedi the way I was taught." She sighed heavily, suddenly feeling far too old for all of these kriffing revelations. "I'm starting to think I must find my own way."

Two warm hands rested on each shoulder. Startled, she glanced up to see Weave and Traxis on either side of her, both regarding her with those reassuring, steadfast expressions only the clones were capable of. Neither spoke, but they didn't have to.  _You're not alone. We're with you._

Her mouth opened but no sound came out, and it was almost more than she could bear. She thought of Stonewall, and knew he would burst with pride and affection for his  _vode_ and how they had rallied around her when he could not be at her side.

How strange it was to be full of equal parts sorrow and joy.

If Honi picked up on any of this, she made no comment, only flicked her eyes between the three, though they came to rest on Kali as the 'fresher door opened. "Have you been taking care of yourself?"

Kali was distracted by the clones and her own thoughts, so she only nodded absently. Honi sipped her tea, surveying Kali over the rim of the cup. "You should be taking prenatal supplements. And this tea is garbage; you'd be better off drinking h'kak bean tea – it's far better for a developing fetus."

The hands resting on Kali's shoulders tensed.

_Oh, kriffing hell!_

"What's that, now?" Traxis asked.

Weave exhaled deeply, muttering to himself. "I  _knew_  it."

"You knew what?" Crest asked, stepping into the room.

Honi set down her mug and leveled a sharp glare at her former master, all Healer once more. "How far along are you?"

Kali knew without looking that three pairs of identical eyes had fallen upon her, and she could not hide her wince. "About a month."

"You look like you've lost weight. Have you been getting ill?"

Kali swallowed and nodded, but it was Weave who replied. "I know she's been sick about half a dozen times over the last couple of weeks. Plus, her appetite's changed."

"Kriff, what  _else_  do you know?" Kali said, glaring up at the medic. "Do you keep a log of my 'fresher habits?"

But Weave returned her glare with one of his own. "I pay attention." He frowned. "I hoped I was wrong."

Honi sighed. "Did your contraceptive fail? I  _told_ you to switch to the hypo, but you've always been insistent about that silly implant. It's a relic. I'm surprised there aren't  _more_ pregnant Jedi running around."

Kali's face grew hot and she crossed her arms over her torso. "This isn't really anyone's business..."

The clones made sounds of protest, but they didn't get a chance to say anything as Honi's eyes flashed with righteous indignation. "It is now."

* * *

A/N: Holy kriff, y'all. Writing Honi is SO much fun! XD  _Technically_ , Honi is not an OC; she was introduced in one of the  _Jedi Apprentice_ books by Jude Watson. (A fun YA series that features Obi as a Padawan.) But she only had a first name, species and hair color. The rest, I added...except, apparently she had brown eyes in the books, while in my fanon she has blue. Whoopsies.

Thanks for reading!


	12. Chapter Eleven

Lyrics:[ "Never Be Ready," by Mat Kearney, on  _City Of Black & White_.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M5uYO2wU29w&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp&index=12)

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

_Come on lay down these arms, all our best defenses._

_We're taking our chances here on the run._

_Fear is an anchor, time is a stranger,_

_Love isn't borrowed, we aren't promised tomorrow._

In the moments after Kalinda's revelation, Weave watched the copper-haired Jedi with equal parts respect, fascination, and a trace of apprehension.

"You got pregnant on  _purpose_?" Tallis asked, jaw dropping. "You...asked a  _clone_ to impregnate you?"

"He has a  _name_ , you know," Crest broke in. Trax glowered as well. Weave had to hand it to his brothers; though they'd all been thrown for one hell of a loop, they didn't miss a beat when it came to protecting their captain - or their general, for that matter. As for himself, he was still reeling from the news. Sure, he'd had an idea it was true, but the reality was overwhelming. A child. Would he ever be able to wrap his mind around the concept?

Tallis ignored them all and leveled a furious glare on her former master, who actually shrank back in her chair a bit. "Of all the stupid, irresponsible,  _asinine_  things you could have done...this is the  _worst_. Have you  _any_  idea what you're going to do with a child?"

"Love the kriff out of it," Kalinda answered stiffly.

The copper-haired Jedi rolled her eyes so hard, Weave thought they'd fall out of her head. " _Love_  won't feed a child, Kalinda.  _Love_  won't provide shelter or clothing, or inoculations against any of the  _thousands_ of pathogens that can kill an infant. Were you planning on showing up at the Temple in nine months? 'Oh, look, I found a baby. Is it Force-sensitive? Let's make it a Jedi!'"

At this, Kalinda sat up and gave a warning look to the other woman. "It's happened before. And even if it hadn't, I don't regret making the choice. I know it's stupid, and believe me, Stonewall argued against it at first, but what's done is done."

"Yes, it most certainly is," Tallis replied grimly. "I suppose this is why you're so bound and determined to retrieve your clone?"

Traxis slammed his fist on the table, causing the mugs of tea to jump, but Kalinda placed a hand on his arm. He made a wordless noise of anger, but drew back, crossing his arms and glaring at Tallis.

Kalinda had seemed to regain a measure of her calm. "Our child is  _one_  of the reasons I'm going to rescue Stonewall and Milo."

Tallis sighed and shook her head, glancing away as she seemed to gather her thoughts. At last she looked back at her former master. "What do you need me to do?"

Weave was ninety-nine percent certain this was the last thing Kalinda had expected her former Padawan to say, as evidenced by the dark-haired woman's astonished look. "I beg your pardon?"

Tallis crossed her arms over her chest in a mirror of Trax's position. "What. Do. You. Need. Me. To–"

"That's what I thought you said," Kalinda broke in, lifting her hand. "I just didn't quite believe it."

General Tallis began ticking points off of her fingers. "You're pregnant. You're – at the very least – on probation with the Jedi Order. You're on the run from the GAR with three clone troopers, who are now considered stolen property of the Republic, if not criminals in their own right. I doubt you have much money and I  _know_  you have few possessions. Am I missing anything?"

"Yeah," Crest said, sighing. "Any other relevant intel we should know?"

Kalinda considered, then said in a small voice, "Stonewall and I got married on Coraux."

Traxis threw up his hands. "For fek's sake!"

"Wow," Crest added. "I was just kidding..."

"Of course you got married," Tallis replied, rubbing her face in exasperation. "No doubt your clone considered it the honorable thing to do."

"Something like that," Kalinda said. "It was very simple and quick, just an exchange of Mandalorian vows. I'm sorry we didn't tell you guys. We didn't want any fuss. We just wanted to be married." She looked away from everyone, her gaze falling on the window and the city outside.

The room grew painfully quiet. Weave was at something of a loss about the turn of events, and he wasn't the only one. He looked between his brothers; Trax was scowling and shaking his head, leaning on the table on his braced arms, while Crest pretended to find his gauntlet incredibly fascinating.

Tallis had crossed her arms before her chest again and was frowning at the other Jedi. But when she spoke, her voice was calmer than it'd been. "I will bring you those supplements, and whatever else you need. Just tell me."

Kalinda took a deep breath and looked back at her former apprentice. "There's quite a few things from our ship that would be welcome. All the guys' gear, and my instruments..." She frowned and shook her head. "It's too much to ask of you."

The notion of possibly getting back some of his cache of supplies piqued Weave's interest, and he considered all the potential difficulties involved in such a thing. "We could...go with General Tallis," he said slowly.

Four sets of eyes turned to him: two his own light-brown, one dark and one a bright, clear blue. It was this last set that he regarded, though he spoke to everyone. "When I wiped the tracking devices in our armor, I essentially reset the electronic signatures of our kits."

"Can you be identified?" Kalinda asked.

Weave shook his head. "Not unless they dissect us." The dark-haired woman winced at the word, so Weave quickly continued before he came down with a worse case of Foot-In-Mouth-Disorder. "Since we've never painted our gear, we'll look like standard grunts, and should be able to slip under the radar, so to speak. We each have codes embedded in our skin, but frankly, if it comes to that, the jig is probably up."

Kalinda nodded slowly, considering. "Is it worth the risk?" she asked after a beat, looking at each man in turn. "All your weapons and other supplies...could you get by without them?"

The clones exchanged glances, and Weave could read his brothers' thoughts as plainly as if they were his own. Crest, naturally, spoke for the group. "We  _could_ get by without our stuff, Kalinda, but life would be a lot fardling easier if we didn't have to."

"I  _did_ just restock the  _Wayfarer's_ medical supplies," Weave added.

Traxis heaved a great sigh. "Yeah, and I've got that rifle I just finished modding out. It'd be nice to charge into a string of aiwha-bait with that piece in tow."

"Plus, you have all those instruments," Crest added. "Your viol and Stonewall's gitar...that was your old Master's right?"

Kalinda looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. "Yes. That gitar belonged to Jonas." Her eyes closed briefly, then she shook her head. "Honi, it's kind of you to offer, but I can't let you do this. If you're caught helping me any further, it could bring down a lot of  _osik_ on your head."

Tallis' brow furrowed over the Mando'a, but her words were calm. "You're not my Master any longer, Kalinda. I can do precisely as I wish, and I wish to help you."

The two women regarded each other for a moment, and Weave was certain that something was passing between them. Surreptitiously, he studied the Jedi Healer; it was difficult for him to imagine her as a Padawan, especially one who worked with Kalinda. There was a sharpness to her, but now he saw a softening of her gaze as she looked at the dark-haired Jedi, and he realized the depth of the affection that Tallis had for her former teacher.

At last, Tallis lifted her chin, her voice still Jedi-calm. "We've dallied long enough. Where is your ship?"

"The Jedi Temple hangar," Kalinda replied. Suddenly she sat up and whipped her head around the room. "Kriff! What time is it?"

Traxis checked his chrono. "Not even afternoon. We've got a few hours before we have to meet that  _shabla_ bounty hunter."

"That's not..." Kalinda sighed and looked at Tallis, her eyes wide and...was she about to  _cry_? "You have to bring the airspeeder back! I promised Podge!"

"Who the kriff is Podge?" Crest asked.

She huffed and swiped at her eyes; Weave remembered hearing about how Human females often became excessively emotional during their pregnancies – something to do with the fluctuation of hormones – but he resolved at once to learn as much as he could, just to be prepared.

"Podger is a clone I had to," she grimaced, "do a mind-trick upon, so I could use a Temple speeder. But I promised him I'd return it within one rotation, which is this evening."

Tallis raised her hands in a gesture meant to placate. "Very well. I will see that the vehicle is returned." She glanced between the three clones. "Are they all going to accompany me?"

"Fek, no," Traxis broke in, shifting closer to Kalinda. "I'm not letting you meet that tailhead  _chakaar_ alone."

"Don't be rude," she said, narrowing her eyes at the use of the slur. "Tabora may very well be our best chance of reaching Kamino. Besides, don't you want to make sure they get the right weapons? I doubt they can carry your  _entire_  collection back here."

Traxis waved dismissively. "I've got a master-list. I'll pick out my favorites and give Baldy the makes, models and pictures. Even  _he_  can't eff that up."

"Hey!"

Traxis ignored Crest's indignation. "But I'm  _not,_ " he glowered at the Jedi, "leaving you alone. Especially not kriffing now."

They regarded each other a long, long moment, which was a bit odd. Something had changed between Traxis and Kalinda, and Weave wasn't sure how or why it had come about. Maybe they'd had a chance to reconcile last night.

At last the Jedi nodded once and looked back at her former apprentice. "I promise the other two aren't nearly as argumentative."

There was only affection in her words, enough to make Traxis roll his eyes, while a smile tugged at his mouth. Crest sighed.

Tallis glanced at Weave, who straightened his spine out of sheer, ingrained reflex. "I'll take your word for it. I've never worked closely with clones before."

Kalinda cast a smile between the medic and Crest. "Then this is your lucky day."

A few more arrangements were made. Comlink codes were exchanged, and Weave went through his and Crest's kits one last time to make sure no scanners would be able to read them; thanks to his tinkering, a scan of the kits would not come up blank, but rather with one of the innocuous error codes that scanners came across dozens of times each day. At the most, he imagined he and Crest would be told to get their kits checked, but that would likely be it.

Hopefully.

While the Jedi said their goodbyes, Traxis handed each clone a freshly-cleaned and loaded deece, his face a study in steeled nerves. "Take care of each other," he said to them in Mando'a. " _K'oyacyi_. Come back in one effing piece, you hear me?"

"Will do,  _vod,_ " Crest said, gripping Trax's arm.

Weave accepted the weapon; to further blend in, he was going to have to leave his medic-pack behind, so the added weight of the deece was a comfort. "You do the same."

"And keep an eye on our new sister-in-law," Crest added in a dry voice. "She's using the Force for two now, apparently."

Traxis' head dipped in a solemn nod, and his face was about as serious as Weave had ever seen. "They're both safe with me."

Of that, Weave had no doubt.

* * *

_Approximately one month ago..._

"Did it work?"

Kalinda pressed Stonewall's hand closer to her skin and looked up into his eyes. She knew her smile was as wide as the rings that arched across Coraux's sky, beyond their villa. Even then, it could not contain the joy and awe that filled her heart.

"Yes," she whispered.

He gave a helpless laugh and kissed her, hard enough to steal her breath. "Kali," he murmured when they parted. "I don't even know what to think."

As he spoke, he slid fully out of her to lie at her side. Though his voice was easy, she was struck by a stab of guilt, and she looked away as she pulled the sheet over her body. Stonewall, of course, sensed the change in her mood at once, and reached out to skim his fingertips over her cheek.

"I'm happy," he said quietly. "That's the one thing I do know."

Kali worried at her lower lip. "Are you sure?" At his frown, she tried to explain. "Did I push you into this?  _I'm_ ready to have a child, but you..."

He was young, so much younger than her. It was a truth she didn't dwell upon often, because biologically, he was about in his mid-twenties. But the reality was that Stonewall had only been alive for just over a decade. For all that he'd always struck her as what Jonas would've called an "old soul," Kali knew she had a good twenty-odd years on Stonewall.

He studied her a moment, forehead creasing, then his face relaxed. "I know I had my doubts at first, but not any more."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." He raised an eyebrow. "It's a little late to change our minds, anyway."

Where she would have normally laughed at the joke, Kali's stomach tightened into a knot of misgiving. She was completely sober now, but tired and drained of emotion, and cold reality was setting in.  _What have I done?_ "I pushed you," she whispered, looking away from him, looking at her fingers curling over the sheet. "All my grand, romantic talk about choices, and I didn't really give you one, did I?"

Stonewall was quiet for a minute or so, considering her words. Even though she was anxious to hear his answer, she could not suppress a swell of love for the care he took in formulating his reply.

"If I had kept saying 'no,' would you have...forced me?" he asked at last. "Ordered me? Or somehow done it anyway, without my consent or knowledge?"

She stared at him, not sure if he was joking. "Kriffing hell, Stone. Of course not! That's horrible!"

A faint smile pulled at his mouth, but his nod was serious. "I know. I trust you. If I'd truly objected, you would have respected my wishes. So it seems like I  _did_  have a choice."

She huffed as he pulled her to his chest and kissed the top of her head. He was solid and warm and smelled like the sea.

"Sometimes I don't understand how your mind works at all," she said, though her words were muffled by his skin.

"You understand enough," was his easy reply. "Especially enough to know that sometimes I need a push."

Alarmed, Kali twisted her head up to him. "A push?"

He skimmed a hand down her side before resting it at the small of her back. "This is what I want, Kali. Right here. You and me, for as long as possible. Sometimes I think I've wanted it since the moment we met. But before, on the beach, I was," he frowned and his gaze grew distant, "afraid."

"Being a parent is a huge commitment," she agreed. "I'm a little terrified myself."

Stonewall shook his head. "That too. But that's not what I'm talking about."

"Then what do you mean?"

He took a deep breath and leaned back, urging her into her customary place, tucked into the crook of his shoulder. Their room was dark, lit only by Coraux's rings outside the open window, and cooled by the ubiquitous sea breeze. When he spoke again, his tone was thoughtful, as if he was still puzzling through his words even as he gave them voice.

"You were right when you said I'm going to die much sooner than you. Yes, you are older than me, but I can't fight genetics. I don't like to think about it. It's kriffing painful, but on the beach, when you said you didn't want to be alone..." He sighed heavily and hugged her closer, adding a fierce kiss against her temple. "I don't want you to be alone, either. Maybe it is silly, but I would like to leave something of myself with you, after I'm gone.

"I wish it were different.  _Kali'ka_ , I can't begin to tell you how much. I don't want to leave you with a burden, but we have no idea what the future will hold. All I know is that I won't be around for most of it." His arm around her waist tightened. "And before, I thought if I don't let myself live with you, as much as we can  _while_ we can, I'll regret it for the rest of my days."

Tears pricked at her eyes, but she made no effort to fight them. A gentle brush of his Force-energy coiled around hers, allowing them a moment of silent, shared comfort before he added, "I don't want to have any regrets when it comes to us."

She didn't know what to say. What could she say when faced with a man who loved her so fearlessly? All she managed was to whisper his name, his full name, not the nickname she'd given.

Stonewall sighed; the movement of his chest lifted her body and she felt his warm exhale on her hair.  _I love you._

The words were not spoken aloud, or even sent through the link of their Force-bond. The words were not words at all, but feelings, thoughts and memories that crystallized around them, sparkling in her mind's eye like thousands of stars, like sunlight upon ocean waves.

_I love you, too._

They were silent for a long, long time. Sleep was impossible, but she tried to drift off to the sound of the distant waves and the steady drum of his heartbeat.

After a while, Stonewall said her name again, causing her to look up. There was uncertainty on his face now, but she wasn't alarmed. "What is it, Stone?"

"We're going to have a child."

Kali smiled. "Oh, is  _that_  what we just did?"

His chuckle sent a thrill across her skin, but his uncertainty did not dissipate. Instead, his expression turned serious once more. "I don't know how these things are done. I've only seen them in holos."

"What are you talking about? What 'things?'"

Stonewall skimmed her bottom lip with his thumb. "From what I understand, people who agree to have a child generally get married."

Kali's mouth fell open and her mind went blank. It took her a long couple of seconds to form anything close to a coherent thought, and even then, it wasn't much. "Married? You think we should get  _married_?"

"Yes, and I'm trying not to be offended by the tone of your voice."

"I'm not..." Kali sat up and faced him, running her hands through her tangled hair and trying to pull herself together.  _How many of the Order's rules can I break in one evening? Only a few, but they're karking big ones._ "I don't know, Stone," she said at last, looking at him helplessly. "I mean...I just never thought about it."

"Really?"

She sighed. "Maybe I have thought about it a little. But not seriously. Not like I thought it would ever happen."

"I know exactly how you feel," he said, sitting up as well so that they faced one another in the bed. "Before tonight, I never thought I'd be a father. But here I am. And you know," a slow, broad smile crossed his face, "I like it. As scary as it is, I like it. I think I'd like to be your husband, too."

Kali studied him, marveling at the depth of her Jedi training. The longing to create new life was biological, apparently something even the Order could not fully shake her of. But the idea of getting married, of binding herself to another person, forever, was just so...strange. Not, she realized, abhorrent. Training did not run  _that_  deep, and she'd seen far too many happy marriages to never have considered that she could be a part of one.

And if there was anyone in the galaxy she would want to bind herself to, it was this man who looked at her like she was about to sprout wings and fly away. Uncertainty poured off of him, and she realized that he probably thought he'd effed up a perfectly beautiful moment.

She took a deep breath, as much to gather her calm as to collect her thoughts, and slanted him a knowing look. "Ask me."

His honey-brown eyes alighted with joy and he sat up, took her hands in his. She tried not to think about how they were both completely naked, and decided when – and if – she ever told the story, she'd leave that part out.

"Kalinda Halcyon," he said in that solemn voice of his. "Will you marry me?"

She grinned. "Of-kriffing-course, Stonewall."

His smile was just as wide, but it was the overwhelming joy that resonated through his Force-presence that truly expressed his feeling. It was a sentiment she shared. For a moment they just stared at one another, grinning like fools, then she couldn't stand it any longer and threw her arms around his neck, savoring his closeness and the heat of his skin.

"So...should we set a date?" he asked as he embraced her.

Kali hugged him close and inhaled his scent. "I think that's how this works, but I wish there was a way we could just," she nuzzled his chest, " _be_  married. We've made our choice; I don't want to wait any longer."

Strong hands coiled in her hair and turned her face up to his. "I don't want to wait, either. I don't have much time to spare, anyway."

"Fek waiting," she agreed with a nod. "Maybe we can find someone here to officiate..."

Stonewall laughed aloud. "It may not come to that. Do you know anything about Mandalorian marriage vows?"

"Haven't a vaping clue."

She didn't know it was possible, but his grin widened. "Ah. Well, then. Let me educate you."

* * *

_Approximately three weeks later..._

Kalinda smiled at Bail Organa, and hoped he wouldn't realize that she was using him as a living shield. "Well, it was all in a day's work."

The Alderaani senator gave one of his trademark, booming laughs. "Five clone soldiers and one Jedi Knight...and you not only stopped a Separatist invasion, but rescued Tibor Taro's son. That must have been  _quite_ an eventful day."

"They usually are," Kali replied, eyes darting over the assembled guests, searching for the tell-tale blue  _lekku_  of her unwanted suitor.

A cool wind blew, but it was high summer on this part of Alderaan, and the evening was mild. Even so, tall heat-lamps had been set at the perimeter of the party area in order to keep the space a comfortable temperature for Alderaan's guests. Dinner had ended about an hour ago; the fundraiser had gone remarkably well, or so Kali had heard the High Chancellor remark to Mace as everyone had reconvened to the dance-floor for mingling and...well.

Music filtered through the cool air and the assembled guests. The string quartet that had been hired for the evening was pretty good, but Kali hardly paid attention to the lilting melodies. She was too busy trying to avoid the enthusiastic presence of a certain senator, who'd taken quite a shine to her.

Organa sipped from his crystal flute and shifted slightly to his left in an effort to see through the bustling dance-floor – possibly, he was looking for his wife. Kali didn't remember her name...Brenna, Beru...something. It didn't matter at the moment. Subtly, she shifted along with Organa, thankful she was much shorter than the senator.

Then his eyes lit up and he looked down at Kali. "There's Breha. I promised her a turn on the dance-floor. If you'll excuse me...?"

Kali bowed, though inwardly she was swearing. The moment Organa moved off, she was dangerously exposed, and, worse off, in a clear line of sight to Senator Orn Free Ta.

She'd been seated beside him at dinner, which at first had gone about as well as it could have. She would have preferred to sit next to almost anyone else, even Mace, but the Jedi in attendance at this soiree had been sprinkled throughout the guests. Fek, she would have  _loved_ to be at the table that housed the clones, but of course that was out of the question.

Apparently the Jedi robes and lightsaber were not deterrents enough to stop Orn Free Ta from excessive flirting. As the wine had flowed, so had the senator's advances, until Kali was hard-pressed to keep a polite look on her face, reminding herself that she would get in quite a lot of trouble if she stabbed the Twi'lek with her fork after he'd tweaked the side of her rump and told her she'd make a  _lovely_  dancer.

Now that she was exposed, the corpulent Twi'lek spotted her at once, a huge grin splitting his huge face, and began to wave her over. The scantily-clad Lethan Twi'lek female at his side shot Kali a sympathetic look, but Kali managed to keep her face schooled to Jedi-calm.  _Kriffing son of a shabla nerf-herder!_

She glanced around the room, searching for Stonewall. The Jedi had been asked to bring their senior clone officers, and she'd told him flat-out that if she had to suffer through this function, he did as well. He'd grumbled a bit, until he saw who else was coming. At least  _he_ got to spend the evening chatting with Rex and Cody. She doubted very much that his experience tonight was as irritating as hers. Lucky  _di'kut_.

But he was nowhere in sight, and short of Force-leaping over the assembled guests, she could not get a good enough vantage point to look for him. Reaching out with the Force to find him would be...unwise, given the presence of several Jedi Masters, including Mace, Plo Koon, and Kit Fisto, all of whom would likely wonder why she was so interested in finding her clone captain.

Neither Kali nor Stonewall had told the guys about their marriage, let alone the pregnancy; for now, those were secrets they were still wrapping their minds around. Regardless of what had passed between them, here and now, they had to maintain a semblance of professionalism.

_Fan-kriffing-tastic._

Senator Ta waved at her again, a clear gesture for her to  _come over_ , but Kali pretended not to understand even as she silently begged the Force to present her with an alternative to inane chitchat and very likely another unwelcome bout of fondling. In her distracted state, she stepped backward and collided with a solid, armored form. Kali turned and looked up into a mismatched set of eyes: one the normal, golden-brown of a clone, the other a silver-white cybernetic.

Thankfully, it only took her a nanosecond to remember his name, and in her relief to see him, her reply was a bit more enthusiastic than it should have been. "Commander Wolffe!"

If he was startled by her exuberance, he made no indication of it. Instead, the officer inclined his head politely. "General Halcyon."

"Oh, Force, I ran into you," she began to babble. "Kriff, I'm sorry about that, Commander. It's so crowded in here, after all. Are you alright?"

"Er...no permanent damage was done, General," he said, brow furrowing. "Besides, I've been through worse."

"Of that, I have no doubt." Kali glanced at Senator Ta again.  _Fek_! Apparently he'd grown tired of trying to get her attention from a distance, and was making his way through the crowd, cutting through the guests like a Hutt's barge.

She had to do something. Wolffe wore an expression like he was about to excuse himself, but she couldn't let this chance go. Kali touched his armored arm – like all the clones here, he wore his entire kit, albeit minus his weapons and with his helmet clipped to his belt – and got his attention.

"Actually, I'm happy I ran into you," she said quickly. "Well, not  _literally_ ran into you. Encountered." She smiled at him, but he was silent, so Kali pushed on. "I'm trying to find my captain, but it's impossible for me to see a thing in this crowd. At least, not without using the Force in rather impolite ways, I'm afraid. Have you seen him?"

"Captain...Stonewall, correct?"

"That's the one." She couldn't help herself. "You know: tall, dark hair, dressed head to  _shebs_ in shiny, white armor."

Wolffe regarded her a moment as if sifting through her words, then, to her amusement, gave a solemn nod toward a corner of the room. "I believe he and a few others are discussing matters of strategic import."

She'd been around the guys enough to know that was clone-speak for gossiping. Kali looked where he'd indicated, but of course she couldn't see, and Senator Ta was lumbering closer by the moment, so she gave Wolffe her most charming smile. "I know it's unorthodox, but would you mind...escorting me?"

Again, the commander did not appear to be fazed by her odd request. In fact, she noticed that his eyes flickered toward Senator Ta before he offered her his armored elbow. "My pleasure, General."

Wolffe slipped through the crowd with ease, and Kali noticed he made an effort to avoid the Twi'lek senator, for which she was grateful. Within moments, they reached the corner of the room where the clone officers had congregated. Cody was there, standing between Stone, Rex, and a few others that Kali didn't recognize. They appeared to be deep in conversation; when she caught a flare of sorrow from Cody as well as threads of reassurance from the others, she realized they'd been discussing Obi-Wan.

Her chest ached at the thought of her friend, but she was able to push past the feeling. The moment she and Wolffe came into view, the clones straightened and offered her a series of sharp salutes, even Stonewall. She knew better than to dissuade them, so she only gave a bow and looked up at Wolffe.

"Thanks, Commander. I owe you one."

He inclined his head. "I'll make a note of it, sir."

Chuckling, Kali looked at the others, all of whom were watching her with varying degrees of curiosity. From what she'd heard, Anakin and his Padawan were hunting down Ben's killer, so she wasn't entirely certain why Rex and Cody were here. They were both highly-decorated, widely-recognized officers; perhaps they, like she and Stone, had been called at the last minute to attend this function, to put on a pretty face for potential financial benefactors.

Regardless, they had all rallied around Cody, clearly offering consolation to their brother, and she'd interrupted.

"I'm sorry to butt in," she said, and truly meant it, "but I need to borrow Stonewall for a moment."

"Is everything alright, General Halcyon?" Stonewall asked. There was curiosity in his voice, along with a faint trace of alarm. In addition to maintaining a professional distance from one another, she'd been quite insistent that he not use the Force while in the presence of other Jedi, so he likely had no idea what had brought her over.

She was being silly. She was a grown woman, a kriffing Jedi Knight, and she could handle one overzealous senator. But being near Stone again was intoxicating, and she wanted to be in his arms, even here, even now. The moon was high, the music was lovely, and although it was selfish and reckless, the urge to be close to her husband was too strong to ignore. Besides, there were not a wealth of available dance-partners here, save Senator Ta, and he couldn't dance with her if she was dancing with someone else _._

Even so, she still felt guilty for interrupting. "Nothing's wrong, Stonewall. I just," she felt her face get hot and hoped she wasn't visibly blushing, "well, to be honest, I needed a diversion."

"I'm flattered you thought of me," he replied easily. "How can I help?"

He was teasing, of course, but there wasn't anything inappropriate in his words. By now, many of the clone officers were on such congenial terms with their Jedi generals, so none of the others batted an eyelash at his tone.

In fact, Wolffe, who still stood at her side, gave a polite cough into his gloved hand. "Senator Ta is approaching, General."

Stonewall's mouth twitched; he had a devious streak to him. "Senator Ta? Yes, he seemed quite taken with you at dinner. Sir."

 _Sir. Force help him._ "And it's a trend that's continued," she said, glancing around. "I just need to keep busy until he gets tired of the chase."

"That will likely take a while," Cody said thoughtfully.

"A  _long_  while," Wolffe added in a dry voice.

Rex made a noise of amusement. "General Skywalker has told me some stories..." As the others looked at him, he cleared his throat and shook his head. "Er...never mind. Best save those for another time."

Stonewall regarded her a moment. "What sort of diversion were you thinking of, General?"

"Do you know how to waltz?" she asked as innocuously as she could. They'd danced before, many times, but nothing quite as...proper as the Alderaani waltz. This was likely a very foolish idea, but the space was crowded and she thought they could get away with it, this one time.

"I think I can figure it out," he replied slowly. "But I don't want to get in the way of any Jedi business. Didn't General Windu say that this event was supposed to foster unity between the Senate and the Order?"

Kali could not hide her glare at him, especially when it was clear that Stonewall was fighting back a grin. Rex chuckled as well, and Cody shot an amused look at Wolffe, who gave a slight tilt of his head that made Kali think he was rolling his eyes.

But in truth she hardly noticed any of them. She only had eyes for one man. "I think enough unity was fostered at dinner. Now, I'm just looking to keep the peace and avoid having my  _shebs_ grabbed – again."

Stonewall's eyes narrowed and there was a dark tinge to his next words. "He did...what?"

"You heard me," she said, lifting a brow, and his mouth tightened into a thin line.

This exchange seemed to startle the others out of their levity. The Force hummed with their disapproval, even more so when Cody and Rex shot glances toward the Twi'lek senator, who was  _still_ trying to get through the crowd toward Kali. Kriff, the fellow was relentless.

Surprisingly, it was Wolffe who spoke. "It seems duty calls, Captain."

"It does at that, sir." The speech was clipped, but his eyes on her were wholly warm.

After bidding farewell to his fellow officers, Stonewall stepped over to Kali and offered her his hand. When she reached for his, when his fingers closed around hers firmly, the Force practically sang through her mind. It broke free of the tight barrier she'd tried to erect tonight and resonated between them, briefly and brightly, before they each managed to snuff the energy. There were too many other Jedi here for them to get carried away.

But kriff...he was her husband. The father of her child. She just wanted to be in his arms. Was that so wrong? Was that so dangerous?

As they passed Senator Ta, the Twi'lek said her name. "I was very much hoping to have a dance – or several – with you, Knight Halcyon."

"And you will," she assured the senator. "As soon as my captain and I finish our...er..."

Stonewall gave the senator a perfectly believable salute. "Security briefing, sir."

The Twi'lek scoffed. "In the middle of a party?"

"Yes, sir. We're trying to keep a low profile."

Kali added a regretful smile. "No rest for the weary, you know."

She didn't hear Ta's reply, as she and Stonewall were soon within the mass of other dancers, moving gracefully across the floor – beneath the open sky and the silver-coin moon. One of his hands rested high on her waist, the other held hers as she reached for his shoulder. The song had ended as they'd passed Senator Ta, but by now another waltz was starting up again.

"I have no idea how to waltz," he told her as the music swelled. "I apologize in advance if I step on your toes."

When Kali met her husband's eyes, she thought her crinking heart would burst with happiness right there. Yes, she would very likely get in all sorts of trouble for even this meager display of impropriety, but he was worth every bit of trouble, and then some. "Just relax; you'll get it. But for kriff's sake, don't let me go."

He smiled, and his hand at her waist pulled her imperceptibly closer. "Easy enough."

* * *

So it was true.

High Chancellor Palpatine sipped his sparkling Crème D'Infame and watched Knight Halcyon and her clone pet. It was plain that Halcyon, a woman well past her prime, was infatuated with the young clone, who in turn was either too grateful for the physical gratification or too well-trained to refuse his superior's advances. Though they danced politely, like any other couple on the floor, it was obvious from their simpering gazes that they believed they shared some sort of connection. A probe with the Force reinforced the notion, though of course he was able to do so directly under the collective noses of all the Jedi at the event.

Even the one who stood beside him.

Palpatine did not need to look at Mace Windu to know the Jedi Master was also watching the asinine display, and he smiled to himself. Jedi like Knight Halcyon, in their insipid desire to find  _happiness,_ were dissolving their precious Order from the inside out. And Jedi like Mace Windu were so blinded by their own rules, they focused on the trees when they missed the entire forest – and the fire that would soon consume it.

Another probe with the Force confirmed the clone captain's Force-sensitivity. Initially, Palpatine had been startled to hear of such a thing, but as the saying went, truth was stranger than fiction. Palpatine's informant had been told in no uncertain terms, that if the information was wrong and the clone was not Force-sensitive, the skirmish on Balasi would be  _nothing_ compared to what misery could be wrought on the Iktotchi's miserable little family. From there, sniffing out the truth had been remarkably simple, starting with ensuring that Halcyon was ordered to attend this function.

How a  _clone_ had come upon the Force was a mystery, and the Sith's hands tightened over the curve of his glass. If there was to be a mystery, it should  _only_  be of his making.

In any case,  _how_ it had happened was only a concern if it was something that could be repeated. So much was riding on the clone army, he could not afford a dangling thread like this, lest the entire plan unravel. If one clone could become Force-sensitive, others might.

That was something Palpatine could not, would not, allow.

But if the clone was an anomaly, it could be a valuable asset. Large-scale cloning of Force-sensitives had been deemed imprudent for a variety of reasons, but a single, completely obedient operative could prove to be most useful in more ways than one. Additionally, although cloning technology was presently unable to successfully replicate a Force-sensitive individual, Palpatine had aspirations for future projects.

There were too many unknowns right now, but it would not be that way for long.

Palpatine sipped his drink and kept his features passably bland. "Master Windu," he said, indicating Halcyon and her clone pet. "Who is that dark-haired Jedi, dancing with a clone?"

Mace Windu's eyes tightened. The Force flickered around him like a faint lightning storm, though he kept his emotions lashed tight.  _Fool_.

"That is Kalinda Halcyon," Windu said in a calm voice that could hide nothing from the Sith.

"Kalinda Halcyon..." Palpatine pretended to consider the name, though he'd done the necessary research on the shuttle here. "Ah," he smiled genially at Windu, "she was once your Padawan."

"Yes, Chancellor."

"She seems to have done well for herself. I heard she was instrumental in handling that crisis on Balasi."

Windu nodded once, but made no reply.

Palpatine indicated the dancers again, and kept his voice carefully schooled to sound perplexed. "I fear I am rather out of touch with these matters, so I'm inclined to ask...is it common for Jedi generals to waltz with their clone officers?"

Windu's face darkened visibly, no small feat for his already stern features. Palpatine bit back a smile of amusement at the Jedi's discomfiture. "Knight Halcyon is known for her...unorthodox behavior," Windu said at last.

It was not really an answer, but Palpatine did not care one way or the other. Nothing Windu said would make any difference, now or later. "I see," he said, swirling the pale gold wine in his glass. "Well, to each their own, I suppose. She's a credit to your training, I'm sure."

"Thank you, Chancellor." Mace Windu's voice was neutral, but his dark eyes remained fixed on Halcyon.

Palpatine sipped his drink again, relishing the sweet trickle down his throat.

Yes, this was a most entertaining affair.

* * *

A/N: Hopefully some more pieces are falling into place. :) Endless thanks to  **impoeia**  for her amazing beta-work, especially her feedback on Palpatine's section! This was the first time I've written him.

Next time, we'll check in with the boys on Kamino. I'm sure they're having a  _fabulous_  time. /s

Oh! One last thing that impoeia pointed out. Obi's been "dead" for about a month, in the story, though I think on the show he was only "dead" for a few days. That whole arc confused me. Anyway, remember this fic is AU. ;)

Thanks for reading!


	13. Chapter Twelve

[Lyrics: "Radioactive," by Imagine Dragons, from _Night Visions._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ktvTqknDobU&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp&index=13)

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

_I'm waking up._

_I feel it in my bones,_

_Enough to make my systems blow._

_Welcome to the new age._

_Present day..._

While the rest of his aides bustled about, Creon studied the deceased unit on the table before him. Where the unit's feet had once turned inward in a mockery of typical Kaminoan perfection, now the bones were straight and smooth, exactly like those of the other Fett clones.

The nanogene droids had worked.

Well, to a degree. Creon glanced over his datapad, noting the bio-readings in the final moments of the clone's life. Though the thousands of microscopic droids had repaired the unit's malformed bones, nerves and tissue, the strain had proven to be too great for the clone. Its heart had given way after only three hours of surgery.

Creon exhaled deeply and reminded himself that there were more subjects. Besides, the loss of one clone was a small matter when placed against the success of this most recent trial.

"Scientist Dai," one of his aides said, drawing his gaze. "You have a transmission from the Core."

"I will take it in my office." He stepped past the dead clone and made his way to his office, a small room adjacent to the lab. Once inside, he locked the door and activated the holographic transceiver on his desk. A familiar, robed and hooded figure bloomed before him.

"Your report, Scientist Dai?" Lord Tyranus' voice was clipped.

Creon lifted his head. "Preliminary blood samples from the army have been analyzed, and no trace of an increased midichlorian count has been noted. I think it is safe to say that unit CC-3077 is indeed an isolated anomaly."

If he hadn't known any better, Creon would have sworn the Jedi's shoulders sank a fraction of an inch. "That is excellent news. What of the clone captain?"

"It showed impressive Force-abilities during the physical training exercises that you provided," Creon replied smoothly. "I am compiling the results. As soon as the mental exercises have been completed, I will send the report to you."

"Very good."

Creon considered his next words. "Beyond the Force-sensitivity, there is one slightly unexpected aspect to the unit. It has proven to be quite resistant to many of the tests, and has openly defied orders on more than one occasion."

Faint annoyance swelled against the barrier of his calm. Such defiance was a byproduct of an inept initial handling of the clones' genetic structures; had he been in charge, the nanogene droids would have prevented any such nonsense. It was a simple matter of manipulation. So infinitely small, but the nanogene droids' power was endless. There was nothing they could not do.

"Resistance?" Lord Tyranus voice slunk from the shadow of his hood. "You insisted that you would be able to handle any such thing."

"Of course the unit can be reconditioned," Creon replied, dipping his head once. "If it continues to disobey orders, there is likely no other option. However, reconditioning is meant to create a," he searched his memory for an appropriate Human analogy, "a blank sheet of flimsi, so to speak, one on which anything can be written. I am simply not certain if the unit will retain use of the Force after the treatment."

He paused. "My nanogene droids could be programmed to perform the reconditioning. They are advanced enough to manage the most subtle of procedures."

"You are certain it will work?"

Again, Creon took his time to answer, though it was not because he had to think over the matter. The microscopic droids were capable of anything, of course, but it was prudent to show humility in all dealings with Humans – especially Jedi Masters. "It should," he said at last. "Though there is an inherent risk in any untried procedure."

The Jedi seemed to consider Creon for a moment before nodding slowly. "That is a risk we will have to take. It's just a clone, after all."

* * *

After lunch, Milo was startled to see that the clones of The Dregs were herded outside once more. Thankfully, Stonewall had not been taken away this time, so he was a little more at ease as he stood with his former captain on the ferrocrete deck, ignoring the intermittent patter of rain. Though Stonewall must be tired, he thought his  _vod_ wanted something of a semblance of normalcy, which probably accounted for the calisthenics.

"Let's start with some laps to warm up," Stonewall said as he pointed to the perimeter. "Then some reps, and maybe a little sparring – if it doesn't make the guards too nervous."

Milo bounced on the balls of his feet while energy buzzed through his blood. It felt like it'd been  _forever_ since he got to truly stretch his legs, and despite being tossed around with the Force this morning, he was ready for a little action. He glanced at Levy, who stood beside him, eagerly listening to the exchange.

"You up for some laps, Lev?"

The cadet snapped into a crisp salute, though he was grinning broadly. Milo chuckled and glanced at Stonewall, who smiled back. "I'd say that's a 'yes,'" Stonewall said, and began to jog.

It was nice at first. After a few minutes, the rain almost completely let up, and though the sun had not broken free of the cloud cover, the sky was bright. Milo settled into the familiar jog easily, keeping perfect rhythm with Stonewall, though they were each careful to stick to a pace they were sure Levy could handle. The cadet trotted behind them, eyes ahead, face determined, and steps in line with the older clones.

Zero and the rest of The Dregs clones stood by the building, watching the trio with no small amount of bewilderment. Each time Milo circled close enough, he heard the others muttering and watched them cast confused looks toward the three jogging clones. After half a dozen laps, Milo paused beside Zero and the rest, Stonewall and Levy following his lead a beat later.

"Anyone who wants to join us is welcome to," Milo said, glancing at the "defective" clones as he daubed off his forehead with the hem of his shirt. He wasn't winded, but a few drops of sweat had begun to bead upon his skin.

Zero frowned, and Milo remembered his harsh comments at lunch. How he could view his fellow clones so coldly was a mystery, but Milo couldn't feel anything but pity for the one-armed clone. Zero had obviously never known what it was like to have brothers.

"Why would we want to join you?" Rime asked, clearly at a loss even as he tried to shove Cobble aside.

Another swell of pity moved through Milo as he considered Rime's milky eyes and the way that Cobble clung to the blind clone, who seemed to want nothing to do with him. No brothers, no hope, and it had been that way for a long time. What a miserable existence.

The older clones might be beyond help, but he wanted Levy to have a sort-of-normal life. As Milo considered his answer, he mussed Lev's short hair, grinning at the way the younger clone ducked out of his reach.

"Gotta keep in shape," he said at last.

Several of the clones shook their heads, and Zero made a noise of irritation. "There's  _no_  point! When will you get that through your thick skull?"

Stonewall opened his mouth like he was going to answer, but Milo beat him to it. "It's a damn sight better than sitting around, waiting to die."

He regretted the harsh words, but it seemed like  _nothing_  he said had any effect on these men, and he didn't know how else to get through to them. Everything that came out of Zero's mouth was horribly blunt and sad; maybe that was the only language anyone in The Dregs understood. In any case, Milo wasn't sure how long he could listen to it without punching the other man in the hopes of snapping him out of his funk, though punching a guy with one arm was probably a pretty  _shabuir_  move.

But Zero sure wasn't going to make it easy. His gaze on Milo was equal parts pity and anger. "We're not like you, Milo. We're broken. We've never been anything else."

With that, the one-armed clone turned his back on Milo, Stonewall and Levy, who'd come back to Milo's side. The others gradually turned away as well, and Milo sighed heavily as he exchanged glances with his former captain. "Well, that backfired."

"At least you tried." Stonewall placed a hand on Milo's shoulder. "Let's get back to those laps. After all," he slanted a fond look at the cadet, "we've got to make sure Lev can keep up with us."

The cadet stuck out his tongue at Stonewall, who chuckled. Seeing Levy in good spirits renewed some of Milo's own, and he laughed as well when he gave Levy a playful cuff, and the younger clone darted off. It was a clear invitation for a chase, so Milo and Stonewall began to trot after him, not really trying to catch him, but simply hoping to keep the game going. It was a simple game, one Milo hadn't played in forever. Once a clone got to be a certain age, there were no more games. Everything became training. It'd been a long time since he  _played._

The game continued for several minutes. When Milo was tagged 'it,' he broke into a true run after his former captain, savoring the burn of his muscles and the salt-wind in his hair. Without the Force to aid his speed, coupled with his tiring morning, Stonewall was not as fast as Milo, but didn't seem to care. Even so, Milo took care not to tackle him  _too_  hard.

They rolled over one another, somersaulting so that their impact on the damp ferrocrete platform would be painless. It was. The moment he was free, Milo jumped up and called to Levy as he darted away from the former officer. "Watch out,  _vod_! Stonewall's 'it!'"

"Way to ruin my element of surprise," Stonewall replied, but his voice held nothing but amusement.

When Milo felt a hand on his arm, he nearly jumped out of his skin. It was a testament to how kriffed-up this place was that such a thing was an anomaly, and therefore enough to cause alarm. He paused in his efforts to evade capture and glanced over to see Cobble, shifting from foot to foot and not looking at him.

"Cobble?" Milo asked.

"Cobble."

 _Uh...okay._ Milo glanced at Stonewall and Levy, who'd come over as well. Both were breathing a little hard from the game of chase, and a faint sheen of sweat covered both their foreheads. "Is everything okay?" Milo asked the newcomer.

Cobble's head ducked once in what Milo thought might be a nod. "Cobble?" he asked.

Milo and Stonewall exchanged helpless glances; maybe if the captain had been able to use the Force, he could have sensed what Cobble wanted, but the collar around Stonewall's neck was active and his brother had probably gotten a healthy fear of the effing thing. With good reason;  _he_  was still a bit sore from those sticky-things. Force knew how unpleasant the shocks from the collar were.

After a moment, Milo cleared his throat and indicated the ferrocrete platform. "We're just messing around," he said with a shrug. "D'you want to...join us?"

It was a long-shot, but maybe...

A smile broke across Cobble's face, wide and bright as Coraux's rings. "Cobble!" he said, nodding enthusiastically and slapping a hand over his heart. It took Milo a moment, but he realized that the pattern of Cobble's slaps mimicked a heartbeat.

"Yes, it's good to keep up your heart rate," he said, nodding as well. Weave would approve of this guy. "Come on. Stonewall's 'it.' Except he's usually faster than he looks."

Someone cuffed his ear playfully. " _Now_ you're in trouble, Mi."

Milo grinned at his former captain and darted off, urging Levy and Cobble along with him, their feet slapping against the wet ferrocrete. "You've got to catch us first!"

* * *

Stonewall was still tired from the morning's "tests," but it was good to forget the collar around his neck, even for a little while.  _Fek_ , he needed something to smile about. Watching Milo encourage Levy and the odd fellow, Cobble, to play around filled Stonewall with happiness and a sense of pride.

 _He's not a shiny any longer_ , he thought fondly as Milo let himself be tackled by the cadet.

It'd been some years since Stonewall had encountered a clone Levy's age. Though small, the kid was strong and agile, as were all young clones. As he watched Mi and Lev tussle, Stonewall was struck with longing. Would his and Kali's child be strong like that? Kali would be an amazing mother, and no doubt his  _vode_ would step in to help, but it still felt wrong; his child needed a father.

The longing sharpened to an ache, accompanied by a swell of grief and bitterness that Stonewall fought to push away. That kind of thinking would do no good. He had to focus on the  _here_ and  _now_ if he was going to keep his sanity here – not to mention his life.

After a few rolls over the ferrocrete, Milo called out a laughing surrender, and Levy jumped to his feet, arms lifted in triumph as he danced around Milo's prone form. Cobble stood by, clapping his hands. The other clones of The Dregs looked on, aghast, and Stonewall was able to take a bit of amusement in that, too.

But all good things in the galaxy had a shelf life, and the game was no exception.

Cobble saw the guards first. The rain had started to fall a little harder again, and he'd been about to tag Stonewall; he froze, one hand outstretched, and his eyes wide as they fell upon someone behind Stonewall's shoulder. Immediately, Stonewall whirled around and was met with the crackling end of Ward's electro-pike, raised to his eye-level.

"Don't– " Ward began.

But Stonewall knew the drill by now. "Try anything funny," he finished, lifting his hands. "I remember."

He stepped forward, willing to comply despite the renewed sinking feeling in his gut, but Halligan, who'd naturally accompanied Ward, indicated Cobble and Levy. "Come on, both of you. Creon says he needs two more subjects."

Cobble's shoulders sank but he nodded once, a blank look on his face as he stepped beside Stonewall. Levy's face paled, and he stood close to Milo, one hand on Mi's arm.

"Come  _on_ , kid," Halligan said, pulling out a set of cuffs. "You'll only make it worse for yourself if you delay."

Levy cringed and ducked his head into Milo's back. Stonewall glared at the guards, but it was Milo who spoke first. "No, I'll go," he said easily as he stepped free of Levy's grip and held out his wrists. "Lev will stay here."

Halligan shot his companion a look; it was impossible to see his face through his helmet, but his words sounded skeptical. "Think it's okay?"

Ward gave an exaggerated sigh, the sound hissing through the mic in his bucket. "Whatever. Like it makes a fardling difference which defect we drag out."

As his hands were bound, Milo glanced back at Levy, who stood with his arms wrapped tight around his sides. "It's okay,  _vod._  It's going to be okay."

Another flare of pride passed over Stonewall, followed closely by regret.  _It's not fair_ , he thought as he watched as Milo was forced forward. _He deserves better._

His eyes slid to the others, huddled together beneath the renewed rainfall.  _They all do._

* * *

Again, they were brought to the training-room, though not before more of those  _shabla_ nodes were attached to Milo and Cobble. Neither guard placed any on Stonewall, nor did they bring out that kriffing blind-helmet again, so he wasn't sure what was going on. The few times he tried to speak to Mi, Ward waved his electro-staff between them.

Cobble was shoved into the room first, then Milo, then Stonewall. All three were bound, of course, though once they were inside, Ward slipped away while Halligan deactivated the cuffs at Milo and Stonewall's wrists, and stuck a small transmitter into Stonewall's ear

"What's going on?" Stonewall asked as the guard fiddled with the device.

Halligan's visor dropped, but he did not reply. Ward returned a moment later with – of all things – a standard DC-17 blaster. Three, actually, one of which he handed to Milo. "Don't get any ideas, dreg," he said as Milo accepted the weapon gingerly. "Hal and I will have you all in our scopes, so one wrong move and you're fodder."

"What about him?" Milo asked, nodding to Cobble.

Ward shook his head; his next words were monotone, spoken as if by route. "Scientist Dai will provide further instructions," was all he said before he and Halligan, now fully-armed, moved to the sidelines.

For a moment, the three clones stood in a clump at the center of the room, not sure what to do. Movement out of the corner of his eye made Stonewall look up; Creon had returned to the observation deck, and was entering commands into his datapad. The long-neck's voice filtered through Stonewall's earpiece comlink a beat later.

"Unit CC-3077; in sixty seconds, the Force-suppressing collar will be deactivated. At that time, you are ordered to use the Force to influence the actions of unit CT-6396. The desired result is the execution of unit CT-2118. You are ordered to bring about that result by mentally coercing CT-6396."

Stonewall could not help his surprise, nor the sudden lash of anger in his heart. The fekking long-neck wanted him to use the Force on Milo to get him to shoot Cobble? Stonewall twisted around and glared up at Creon. Milo and Cobble looked at him, startled, but he ignored them in favor of shouting at the Kaminoan.

"I won't kriffing do it, do you hear me?"

The long-neck's reply was maddeningly calm. "Unit CC-3077, you will comply. If you do not, both CT-6396 and CT-2118 will be terminated via electrocution."

"What's going on,  _vod_?" Milo asked, eyes large, clutching the blaster to his chest while Cobble had edged toward him.

Stonewall grimaced as Creon repeated his orders – no, his effing  _threat –_ in his ear. "He wants me to–"

Before he could finish the sentence, Cobble let out a yelp and fell to the floor, body writhing as electricity pummeled through his veins. Milo stepped forward, but before his foot landed cried out as well and doubled over, though he didn't release his weapon; either the shock was less this time, or he'd simply gotten used to it.

It didn't matter. The shock only seemed to last a moment, but both men were left gasping and shaking; Milo hadn't fallen, but poor Cobble was curled in a fetal position, whimpering his name over and over.

As Stonewall bent to help Cobble, the kriffing long-neck spoke in his ear again. "Unit CC-3077, it will be worse for them each time you do not comply. Now, cease resisting and influence CT-6396 to execute CT-2118."

No. No, this was madness. This was a nightmare. He could not do this. He  _would_  not. Anger blistered Stonewall's heart and erupted into rage, but when the collar was deactivated his vision washed clean and white. The sudden return of the Force was akin to removing his helmet in the middle of a battle; where once the sounds around him had been muted, now they swept back with jarring clarity. Now the Force flowed through him, unchecked, and for one instant he savored the feeling.

Milo's voice broke him out of his trance. "What's happening, Stonewall? What does he want?"

His  _vod's_ eyes were huge and filled with fear – and pain. Keeping his body still, Stonewall took a deep breath, and as he did, he shut his eyes and gathered the Force to him, pulled it close and tight and wore it like armor. Without the collar, it was a simple action, and he allowed himself one second to relish the renewed sensation of immersing himself in the Force. Kriff, he'd missed it. Who would have ever thought he'd miss it?

It only took an instant for him to assess the room through the currents of Force-energy. Milo and Cobble's fear and confusion – both were palpable, and expected. Stonewall acknowledged them and moved to Ward and Halligan; these men were scared, too, and – to his surprise – disgusted with the long-neck. But like the other, "defective" clones of The Dregs, they had long since grown accustomed to their fear, carrying it with them as acceptance of their lot.

Last to receive an inquiring flare of Force-energy was Creon Dai, out of reach, but not out of Stonewall's grasp. He only had a matter of seconds, though, for once the long-neck realized he was in danger, the collar would likely come back on.

Another deep breath, and he turned his attention back to Milo, reaching to his brother through the bonds of kinship, trust, and loyalty that connected them.

It was similar to what he'd done with Kali in the past. Long before Stonewall had full use of the Force, she'd reached out to him in this way, and they'd been able to communicate without vocalizing their words. He'd often wondered if he'd gotten the Force because he was somehow predisposed to it. If so, perhaps all clones were. Perhaps Milo was.

 _Milo._ It wasn't speech, wasn't quite a thought. It was a nudge against Mi's bright spirit, which appeared to Stonewall as glittering threads of energy in his mind's eye.  _Vod_.  _Brother. Can you hear me?_

Milo sucked in his breath, eyes larger than ever, and looked at Stonewall with open-mouthed shock. The emotion echoed within the younger clone's Force-presence, but he did not recoil from what Stonewall knew was a strange feeling, so he sent Milo a flare of comforting, calming energy.

 _I can't explain now,_ he sent through their bond,  _but you must do exactly as I say. Blink twice if you can understand._

The younger clone swallowed thickly, but gave two, steady blinks.

Pleased and proud, Stonewall continued.  _When I give the signal, shoot Creon's console. If you copy that, blink twice._

Another two blinks, coupled with Milo's hands tightening on the weapon he held. Without fully severing their connection, Stonewall brought his focus back to Creon and the task at hand. Cobble still lay at Milo's feet; it'd only been seconds since Creon's last orders and Stonewall knew his window of opportunity was about to close. The time was now.

He exchanged glances with his younger brother again; Milo's face held only raw determination, as if he'd pushed past his confusion in order to see to the task at hand. The tight line of his mouth showed that he understood this might be their last battle together.

Best make it a good one.

Again, Stonewall gathered the Force to him, this time making sure to visibly move his body, with the intention of showing Creon he was being a good, compliant little clone. As he'd seen Kali and Obi-Wan do, he let his vision go slack, held out his hand, and waved it at Milo as if coercing the other man through a mind-trick.

However, through the link he'd established between them, he said,  _Now_!

Milo was the best shot in the galaxy, or at least, he was in this moment. Without taking more than half a second to aim, Milo raised the deece and fired toward Creon's console. At the same time, Stonewall released the Force-energy he'd gathered and pushed it directly toward the  _shabla_ long-neck who saw fit to torture innocent men.

An impressive shower of sparks erupted from the console even as the long-neck was tossed into the wall behind him with enough force to hopefully break his karking bones. Darkness fell around the clones as the training-room's lights failed, but Stonewall didn't need their illumination any longer. He gathered the Force once more and leaped toward Creon, intent on snapping the aiwha-bait's neck if nothing else, because this was ending and it was ending  _now..._

Pain erupted through the Force, shocking him with its intensity. Stonewall landed lightly on the observation deck and glanced behind him, where two bright flares of energy had blossomed in the darkness. The Force cried out with Milo and Cobble's pain as electricity swam through their bodies.

" _Fek!_ " Stonewall turned back to Creon and his effing datapad, which must have had all the controls routed through its fragging circuits.

There was no peace in Stonewall. There was only scorching fury, tempered though it was with only the barest sense of control. Creon's pale face was illuminated by the 'pad's glow, so Stonewall sent a wave of energy toward the Kaminoan again, hoping to at least make him topple over the deck's edge. He succeeded in snatching the 'pad out of Creon's grip, tossing it to the side, and he stalked forward.

Gray eyes watched him but there was no fear within them, only cold calculation as his elongated arm scrabbled for the 'pad, which had not fallen far. Milo and Cobble's cries echoed within Stonewall's mind and his fury boiled over. He had to end this. The Force sang around him, eager and waiting. He lunged for the delicate neck.

But his connection to the Force was severed and pain coursed through his body, sharp and sudden enough to send him reeling. Stonewall couldn't even find the voice to swear as he collapsed to the deck, his vision now splashed with red and blood and  _hurt._ Electricity tore at his fury, froze it to splinters. So shattered, his eyes rolled back in his head, and the darkness took him again.

* * *

Several minutes after the ill-planned attack, Creon watched the guards load CC-3077's body onto an anti-grav stretcher, to return the unit to its cell along with the other two. All three clones were unconscious, though he could have very easily continued the electric currents until they'd died. Perhaps he should have. But both CT units could still be of use, as Tipoca City did not send him defective clones as often as he'd like. There were always more subjects available; acquiring them was another matter.

The CC unit, of course, had a different future.

It was clear now that reconditioning was the only option. Creon surveyed the smoking ruins of his console, thankful he'd had the foresight to control this experiment from the safety of his datapad, which he'd linked to a remote server, just in case there was an " incident" of this nature. All of the data he'd collected would be safe, none of his research lost. The nodes attached to the CT clones' bodies had also been linked to his console, programmed to send a fierce shock through the clones should the console be damaged. Equipment could be repaired or replaced. It was so with most things in his world.

CC-3077 was lifted and carried away, and Creon hurried back to his lab, anxious as ever to return to his work.

* * *

A/N: The Kamino chapters were  _really_  hard to write. Despite appearances, I don't like torturing my characters! :/ But certain aspects of this story called for brutality, and I had to oblige.

But a fun chapter is on the horizon. :) Next time we go back to Corrie, and get a new (ish) POV, though I hope y'all aren't getting whiplash with all this hopping between planets...

Thank you for reading!


	14. Chapter Thirteen

A/N: Just to be clear, my OC clone, Traxis, is gay, and he will have a romantic arc in this story. If you're squeamish about such things...well, I can't help you. Frankly it's overly-kriffing-nice of me to even "warn" you a M/M romance is on the horizon.

Additionally, be aware that flames, rants and nasty comments on the subject will only encourage me to write  **more**  M/M romance. (Not a hardship for me, I assure you.) So if you're "opposed," please spare me your indignation and keep that negative  _osik_  to yourself.

Lyrics:[ "All The Little Lights," by Passenger, from same](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OkxVxox--Io&index=14&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp) _._

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

_We're born with millions of little lights shining in the dark,_

_And they show us the way._

_One lights up_

_Every time you feel love in your heart._

_One dies when it moves away._

_On Coruscant..._

_Lekku,_ while giving their owner many advantages, could be something of a burden at times. Now, for example, Ares Tabora knew that, despite his frustration, it was terribly important that he appear calm and in control. He would have managed, too, but for his coral-colored  _lekku_ that would. Not. Stop. Twitching.

Yet another hazard for a Twi'lek in his line of work. He added it to the mental tally and regarded the Duros male with his best, bland smile. "That is, ah, unfortunate news."

Perhaps it was a trick of the apartment's dim light, but Cad Bane's crimson eyes glowed beneath the sheltering awning of his wide-brimmed hat. Either way, the effect was suitably menacing, made doubly so by the flare of a lit cigarra in Bane's fingertips.

"Unfortunate for  _you,_ Tabora. That goes double since you promised me the final payment  _four_  rotations ago." The Duros took a long drag of his cigarra and blew the smoke in Ares' face.

Ares inhaled deeply without seeming to, a trick he'd perfected long ago. Save for his damn  _lekku,_ he was remarkably adept at maintaining the semblance of cool. Generally. "Work has been...difficult to come by," he admitted at last.

"No one else seems to have any trouble." Bane gave a low, throaty chuckle. "Maybe you should change careers. There's always work for a willing tailhead. Or  _not_  willing. You've got the resume for both."

Ignoring the dig at his past, Ares straightened and leaned forward, keeping his eyes on Bane. "Halevi understood the, ah, hills and valleys of the economy," he said calmly. "She was always willing to be flexible with my payments when bounties were scarce."

Bane smirked. "In case you didn't notice, I ain't Halevi. I just took over her liens when I killed her."

So the rumors were true. Ares' stomach sank; he'd known his money-lender was dead, but he hadn't realized Bane had done the deed. It took every effort to keep his voice light. "How very responsible of you."

In response, the Duros tilted his head and blew another puff of cigarra smoke into Ares' eyes, making them water even as he savored the acrid scent. "I'll make it simple for you, Tabora. Give me my credits, and you can keep your precious ship. Otherwise..."

He trailed off and shifted further in his seat, all easy nonchalance, as if he'd asked Ares over for caf and juja cake. They may as well have been in a cantina somewhere, but of course there was no one else here. Ares' skin crawled at being inside one of Cad Bane's hideouts; every time he came to Taung Heights, he had the niggling feeling he'd never leave.

"Well?" Bane said.

Ares' left  _lek, tchun_ in his native Ryl, twitched at the warning in Bane's voice, and again when the Duros took another drag of his cigarra. Ares resisted the urge to run his hands down the  _lek,_ a gesture that was always soothing, and met Bane's crimson glare. Now was not the time to show weakness, for there was far too much at stake. The gorgeous hull of the  _Stark Raven_ gleamed in his mind's eye _,_  and Ares found another measure of durasteel within himself.

"I need more time," he said after a beat.

The tip of the cigarra flared brightest in the moments before Bane extinguished it on the caf-table between them, and Ares dearly tried to ignore any potential metaphors. The growl of Cad Bane's voice trailed after the smoke, and  _tchun_ twitched again.

"No can do, Tabora."

"Just a little–"

But Bane shook his head, his crimson eyes lidding as he skimmed a hand over the brim of his hat. "Ship like that Maka-Eekai of yours'll make a nice pile of creds at auction, and I got a few more mods to the  _Sleight_ that I'm lookin' into–"

No. Not the  _Raven._ Ignoring his twitching  _lek,_ Ares' jaw tightened like he'd tasted something sour. "I have a job," he broke in. "A big one."

"Well, now." Bane rested one slender ankle on his knee and regarded the Twi'lek with renewed interest. "What sorta job?"

An intriguing one, by all accounts. The moment he'd ended the transmission with the Jedi, Ares had comm'd his old mentor to learn a bit more about this "Kalinda." Elek hadn't been quite as informative as Ares had hoped, but he had learned that Kalinda Halcyon was probably not going to double-cross him, which was always good to hear. More than that, however, only time would tell.

"Trade-secret, I'm afraid," Ares replied in a genial voice; he was not above taking a tiny measure of satisfaction in the way Bane's eyes narrowed in annoyance. "I'm sure you understand. The point is, I'm meeting the client today, so I will have the final payment soon."

Bane chuckled and reached in his coat-pocket for another cigarra. "'Soon.' Seems like I've heard that little melody before." He withdrew a stick, lit the tip, and inhaled deeply. "Assuming I humor you, tailhead, I want a cut of your 'big job.' And don't get any funny ideas," he added, blowing out another stream of smoke at Ares. "That ain't a euphemism for your  _blaster_."

"The thought never entered my mind."  _As if I'd want anything to do with you._

"Glad to hear it." Bane took a few drags, considering, then nodded once. "Ten percent off the top, in addition to the final payment. Otherwise the  _Raven's_  mine, and we both know I  _will_  collect. "

Kriff. Both of his  _lekku_ twitched at the words, and Ares almost regretted that he'd quit the cigarra habit some years ago. He certainly could use one now. "Ten percent is a rather deep cut."

Another trail of smoke was aimed directly at Ares' nose, and he hated that he inhaled, but not as much as the fact that Cad Bane seemed to understand how much he  _wanted_  that kriffing stick. "You wanna succeed in this galaxy, Tabora? You gotta be willin' to bleed."

"Six percent."

Cad Bane flicked the half-toked cigarra at Ares, laughing outright as the Twi'lek fumbled to grab the unlit end before it hit his leg. "Ten."

"Seven."

"Ten." Bane sighed. "Take it or leave it, Tabora. I ain't got all day."

The Duros' words were distant, almost bored, and Bane was already withdrawing another stick. Ares studied the cigarra that rested easily between his fingertips. He well-remembered the sensation of inhaling deeply, the smoke filling his lungs, coaxing his restless thoughts into submission. It'd taken him years to quit the stuff for good. Even now, there was a familiar itch at the base of both  _lekku_  at the memories. It would be so easy to go back.

But the  _Stark Raven._ His ship. His pride and joy, and his freedom.

Once she was his, he could put his tangled past behind him and focus on the future. Once she was  _his,_ life would be better.

Thinking of the  _Raven_ always reminded Ares what was important, so he stubbed the cigarra out on Bane's table. "Eight and a half, and you'll have it within the week."

"Well, well; look who got some balls. They're your own this time, though." Bane chuckled again at his own joke, but Ares only rolled his eyes as he glanced at his chrono. If he left now and hurried, he'd only be a little late when he finally rolled into CoCo Town to meet the Jedi.

"Surely you can do better than that," he said, getting to his feet. "But, unfortunately, I have an appointment to keep, so you'll have to save the jokes for another time."

He showed himself to the door without hearing Bane's reply. In all likelihood, he didn't want to.

* * *

_Meanwhile..._

The apartment door closed behind the guys and Honi, and Kalinda took a deep breath to gather her nerves.

 _They will be fine,_ she told herself as she glanced at Traxis, who wore a similar expression of forced calm. He glanced back, and she was relieved when he did not immediately look away. Neither spoke for a moment, though, and she thought of the previous night's encounter. Kriff...she'd not cried like that in a long time, but it had been necessary. She'd needed to break down, just a little.

She was lucky Trax had been there to help pick her back up.

That thought gave her another measure of assurance; he was a good man, as were all the guys, and they could handle themselves. She trusted her former Padawan as well.

In the meantime, she and Trax had an appointment to keep, and there were still some preparations to be made.

Several minutes later, Kali was seated at the dining table, with both of her lightsabers laid out before her. She studied them for a moment, always a little nostalgic at the sight of her "official" saber, the one she'd constructed as a Padawan, many, many moons ago. It was similar to Jonas' in design, though she'd added a tiny bit of ornamentation in the form of an engraved silver spiral at the pommel cap on the bottom. This weapon fit in her hands perfectly, while her father's had always been a bit too bulky to wield comfortably, but she'd been unable to  _not_ use Jonas' old saber. That one, more so than the one she'd built herself, felt  _right._

This saber, the one she'd crafted with her own hands, she'd given to Stonewall.

The familiar ache bloomed in her chest at the thought of her husband, but she pushed through the feeling and began to disassemble the hilt, setting each piece carefully to one side as she worked. Most Jedi manipulated their sabers with the Force as an exercise in control, but there was no time for that now. Kali simply wanted to finish this task as quickly as possible.

"What are you doing?" Trax sat opposite her, watching the lightsaber deconstruction with no small amount of interest.

Kali detached the mounting chamber from the power cell, and, after carefully prying the Adegan crystal loose, held it up between her thumb and forefinger. "Getting our payment ready."

His face darkened into a scowl. "Your lightsaber? Are you fragging kidding me?"

"Lightsaber _s_ ," Kali said, stressing the plural. "And no." She set the tiny blue crystal to one side and began to reassemble the hilt.

"You can't do that," Traxis replied, shaking his head rapidly. "They're...I mean, they're  _yours_. They're important."

"There are more important things." Kali slid the handgrip over the lower portion of the hilt and hefted it in her palm, assessing its balance. Perfect.  _Good job, thirteen-year-old Kali._ She cast a wry smile at the clone. "Besides, I have you watching my six."

Traxis made a noise of frustration, though she thought she caught a hint of a smile tugging his lips. "Aren't those  _shabla_  things supposed to be your life?"

Kali reached for Jonas' saber, running her hands over the polished trichrome of the hilt. In all the years of use, all the dozens – okay,  _hundreds_ – of times she'd dropped it, the metal was without scratch or scuff. Untouchable. Just like her father had always seemed.

She met Trax's eyes and shrugged again. "They're tools, Traxis. All weapons are. They have a purpose, but are ultimately a means to an end. And the end  _I_ need now is a form of payment. Unless you've got a secret inheritance from Jango Fett, this is our best option."

Traxis startled her with a chuckle. "How pragmatic of you."

"You're probably the only one who would say that about  _me_. Especially now."

His expression shifted to one of...embarrassment? A light touch with the Force confirmed her assessment, and Kali set down the still-intact saber to regard the scarred clone. "I'm sorry for keeping so much from you," she said at last. "I think Stonewall would say the same thing if he were here. We never meant to cause this much trouble for everyone. We just got swept away by one another...often, and to a great degree."

And they'd paid dearly for it already. Grief and fear coursed through her, and this time she allowed them passage, welcomed them as penance and as motivation. Things looked pretty kriffing bleak right now, but she could make them better. If she needed to barter her lightsabers to accomplish that end, so be it. There were more important things in the galaxy than these bits of metal and crystal.

Traxis sighed and shook his head. "Yeah, it happens."

"It does at that."

He was quiet a moment longer. "Look, about last night..."

"Trax–"

"I said a lot of stupid  _osik_ –"

"You don't have to–"

But his pitch dropped, deepened, and his words came out as a growl. "Yes, I fekking do, Kali. This is serious, okay? I was a galaxy-class asshole to you, and I shouldn't have been. So let me fekking apologize, for kriff's sake.  _Fek_."

Oddly, she had to bite back a chuckle at his insistence, but she kept her features calm. She knew he'd said what he'd said last night out of anger, and only some of it had really been meant for her. "Alright," she said.

He exhaled sharply and said, with great care, "I'm sorry."

She waited a beat, wondering if he'd add anything else. He didn't, but waves of remorse and frustration – with himself, with the situation – emanated from him, so she nodded once. "Apology accepted, Traxis."

"Thanks." He sighed again, but there was a relieved edge to the sound.

Kali smiled at him before turning her attention back to her saber – Jonas' saber. Even though she preferred it, it'd never quite been  _hers,_ not like the other one. This saber had always felt more like a companion than a possession. But it, too, had to go.

As she began to twist off the handgrip, she caught a flare of unabashed fascination from the man sitting across from her, so she paused and glanced his way. "Would you like to give it a try?"

Traxis blinked at her in surprise, then, after a split-second of deliberation, nodded once. They both rose and she handed him the saber, careful to keep the emitter pointed away from each of them as she showed him how to activate the blade. The scarred clone studied the hilt for a moment before he flicked the button on the side.

No matter how often Kali saw the bright yellow blade, the color always startled her, just a little, just for a heartbeat. There was something incongruous about it, as if it didn't quite belong where it was supposed to be. She remembered disliking the color when she was much younger, preferring a blue blade like so many others, including Obi-Wan's. The yellow had always suited her father, but then, he'd been suited to most Jedi-related things.

Now, though, the vibrant yellow sent a bittersweet pang through her heart as she thought of Jonas, and of Obi-Wan. Both gone. Save her memories, she had only this little piece left of one and nothing of the other.

Oblivious to her thoughts, Traxis grinned and swung the saber one-handed a few times, well out of the way of them both. After a moment, he gripped it with both hands and dropped into a ready-stance that would have rivaled that of any Jedi Initiate. He lifted the saber parallel to his face, where the bright yellow cast him in a warm, youthful glow even as it illuminated every scar and made his eyes glitter like broken shards of glass.

In that moment – only in that moment – he looked so much like Stonewall, and Kali had a vague flashback to a dream last night, where she'd felt her husband's gentle touch against her hair.

But it'd been a dream, and nothing more.

Stonewall was gone, but not for good, and she was going to get him back. She'd meant what she'd told him.  _Wherever you go, whatever happens, I will find you._

Traxis turned his grin her way. It was a rare expression; wide and filled with only joy. "This. Is. Kriffing. Awesome. I feel like a badass."

"You certainly look the part," Kali told him, laughing. "Just try not to cut off your arm."

* * *

_Later..._

"No, Trax."

The scarred clone ground his teeth. No fragging way was he going into this  _shabla_ ordeal without at least one blaster in each hand and two more within easy reach. "Yes,  _Kali_."

She gave him one of those exasperated looks she did so well, dark eyes narrowed and jaw set. " _One_  weapon is understandable. But this," she waved at the array of equipment he'd strapped to his kit, "is karking overkill."

"Says the woman with  _two_ lightsabers," he pointed out, nodding to the twin cylinders hanging from her belt. "Plus your pistol."

Shortly after she'd disassembled her sabers, she'd changed into some of the threads Tallis had brought, though not everything had been suitable for someone as short as his Jedi. Kalinda looked a bit odd wearing a pale-blue tunic, charcoal jacket and her Jedi-boots...all over the lower-half of a clone's body-glove, which she'd said were the only pant-type things that could be rolled up to comfortably fit her frame. Barring the lightsabers, she didn't look anything like a Jedi, which was the idea. Too bad he couldn't pull a similar stunt with his kit.

Regardless of what she wore, she was still Kalinda, more so when she arched an eyebrow at him. "I'm asking you to only bring  _one_  blaster, Trax. How is that unreasonable?"

"He's a  _shabla_  bounty hunter. You can't trust their kind."

"What about Jango?"

Traxis crossed his arms before his chest. "Even Jango had bad days."

"Look, I trust my old friend. Elek wouldn't have steered me toward Tabora if he thought we'd get double-crossed."

" _Fine_ ," he growled, and began to shuck the extra deeces. He'd sent Crest and Weave off with their own gear, of course, but he'd taken it upon himself to suit up with Mi and Stonewall's weapons, in addition to those he'd had when he'd been arrested. "But you're still bringing your LL-30, right?"

The familiar, slim hilt of her pistol was presented to him. "I thought maybe you could carry it for me. Just for now. If either of us is going to look threatening, it should probably be the one in full body armor."

Kriffing hell, this woman was going to drive him barvy. "But you  _just_  said–"

"I meant you should only bring one  _deece_ ," she broke in, sighing like  _she_  had the right to be exasperated. " _You_  were about to leave here looking like a walking armory.  _One_  deece, plus the LL, should be sufficient. Now let's go before we're late. You have the crystal?"

Once the LL was slid into its holster, Traxis patted his belt, where he'd stowed the tiny blue Adegan crystal she'd pulled from Stonewall's lightsaber. He knew she had the yellow crystal tucked somewhere within that mishmash of clothes. He hadn't seen where she'd stuck it and didn't feel like asking.

He checked his weapons' power-levels one more time. Whatever she said, he was not even the least bit comfortable with meeting a fragging bounty hunter – for any reason. "Alright. Let's move out."

Traxis hadn't thought to ask how they were going to get to CoCo Town, so it was something of a surprise when Kalinda hailed an airtaxi once they'd walked a few blocks. The Weequay driver gave the pair an odd look, but a few extra credits from the dark-haired woman turned that look another way.

It was strange to ride in a civilian sort of transport, and Traxis forgot some of his apprehension as he watched Coruscant zoom past his window. Once the taxi reached the upper levels, he could see landing platforms dotted with people and shops, and he couldn't help but wonder at the civvies below. Did they have any idea of the lives that were being lost beyond the shelter of their atmosphere? Of the good soldiers – good  _men_ – who died each day in their service?

 _Of-kriffing-course not,_ he thought darkly, scowling at the tiny figures.  _They're fekking oblivious._

"Trax."

Kali's voice was soft, but it startled him out of his thoughts. He glanced over and watched her watching him. "What?"

"I don't have to tell you time is of the essence. This," her eyes flickered to the cab driver, and she continued in the less well-known language of Mando'a, "bounty hunter might be our best, if not only chance, to rescue Stone and Milo. So I need you to keep your temper under control and let me do the talking, okay?"

He couldn't suppress an eye-roll of his own. "I'll be on my best behavior. Unless the tailhead," she frowned and he backtracked, "unless Tabora threatens you. Then all bets are off."

Something about what he said – not the slur, obviously – amused her. He watched her fight a smile, and lose the battle. "What?" he asked again, sighing.

"Do you remember what I said to you when we first met?"

Traxis cast his mind back about two years ago. So many things were different now, it was mind-boggling. "Not really," he admitted.

"I'm really lucky you're on my side, Trax." Her smile widened. "It bears repeating."

With that, she faced forward, lidding her eyes and taking those deep breaths that meant she was doing her Jedi-thing, and Trax was again left to his own thoughts.

They reached the diner with minutes to spare. While Kalinda spoke with the Besalisk owner, Traxis surveyed the space, searching for any unfriendlies. With the mods Weave had made to his kit, he wasn't terribly worried about being scanned and identified as an AWOL clone, but he didn't want to take any chances as far as his  _vod's_ wife was concerned.

No, he realized, not his  _vod's_  wife. Mando'a did not distinguish between family members – or gender – in the way that Basic did. His brother's wife, his sister-in-law, was  _his_  sister. His  _vod_.

Lunchtime had passed a few hours ago and it was too early for dinner, so the diner was fairly empty, giving them their choice of tables. Traxis selected a booth toward the back of the place, figuring he'd place Kalinda's back against the wall, while he either stood at her shoulder – which he would prefer – or sit beside her – which he figured  _she'd_ prefer – so they could keep their eyes on the door. Having the wall behind them would also cut down on potential rear ambushes.

When she came out of the back, she was carrying several cups and a pitcher of water, and Traxis glared at the serving droid who was busing one of the empty tables. "Let me get that," he said, grabbing the pitcher out of his Jedi's hands and nodding to the table he'd selected. "Karking tinnies aren't good for a fekking thing sometimes."

She didn't comment until she sat – in the wrong seat – and he frowned. "No, other side," he told her.

"Does it really matter?"

"For kriff's sake,  _vod_ , at least give me this!" he exclaimed, throwing up his hands.

Her eyes widened. "What did you call me?"

"You heard me." He glanced around, assuring himself that no one was listening, then bent to speak in her ear. "You're my effing sister now, Kali."

If possible, her eyes got even larger, and he swore they brightened with tears. Kriffing hell...he'd made her cry  _twice_  in one day-cycle. Stonewall would never forgive him.

He took a deep breath, preparing to say something,  _anything_  to stop the oncoming tears, but she seemed to collect herself and stood up, swiping her eyes with her jacket-sleeve and smiling up at him.

"That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me," she said as she moved to the other seat

Traxis sighed. "Yeah...well. Don't tell anyone. I've got a reputation to keep up."

She opened her mouth to reply, though in the next moment her eyes slid to the front of the diner. In the instant before the door chimed, her demeanor changed completely. Mismatched clothes aside, Kali became  _Knight Halcyon,_ sitting straight in her seat, expression cool and collected as Traxis straightened as well, watching the Twi'lek bounty hunter slip into the diner.

Ares Tabora scanned the room warily before his gaze landed on the Jedi, though his eyes narrowed when he caught sight of the clone trooper. In response, Traxis lifted his chin and gave his best blank stare, the kind that rivaled even the emotionless gaze of the helmet's T-visor, because he'd be fekked if he let this  _di'kut_  think he could pull anything funny.

By contrast, the Jedi gave Tabora a polite nod even as both of her hands rested calmly on the table. The bounty hunter nodded as well, and began to approach.

Like Trax, Tabora wore a pistol at his hip, though there was a bump at his shin that suggested he had a vibro, or another smaller blaster, stuck there. He was about a clone's height, though the curve of his mottled, coral-colored  _lekku_ made him seem slightly taller. A dark-brown nerf leather jacket dusted the tops of his boots; the rest of his clothing looked practical and clean, though it was clear most items had been mended more than once.

As he drew closer, Traxis couldn't help but notice the way the Twi'lek moved. Smooth, confident, assured, despite the fact that he was not overly muscular, at least from what Traxis could make out. The thought struck the clone that Tabora gave the appearance of grace without sacrificing strength.

 _Fekking hell, what's wrong with me?_  Trax thought as the bounty hunter reached their table.  _Mind on the effing mission, soldier._ He held Tabora's gaze and tried to ignore how the Twi'lek's eyes were a warm, rich brown flecked with gold.

Kalinda stood up and offered her hand. "Thank you for meeting us on such short notice, Mr. Tabora. Please, have a seat."

"'Ares' will do," the Twi'lek replied as he shook Kali's hand, though his eyes slid to Traxis and he did not sit down. "Forgive me, but I feel rather like I am about to be handcuffed and dragged off to a military prison."

Despite the pleasant lilt of the Ryl accent, Traxis scowled, but Kalinda gave a light, easy chuckle. "I know Traxis looks very menacing. But all three of us are on the same side of the law," she added, dropping her voice. "He doesn't have the ability to arrest you, any more than I do."

At this, Tabora regarded her. "Now that you mention it, you do not seem quite as, ah,  _official_ as the last time we spoke. Something tells me there is a story behind your attire."

Kali indicated the booths again, and all three of them slid into their respective places. "I don't have time for innuendo or double talk," she said as she poured the three of them some water. "The situation is simple: I want fast, reliable transportation for myself and three clone troopers to the Rishi sector, then to a planet in the Mid Rim where we'll part ways. I want it all to be quietly done. If you can do this, you will be well-paid. Some now, but the bulk of the fee once the job is complete."

Again, the Twi'lek's eyes flickered to Traxis, who sat straight and still. By contrast, the bounty hunter leaned back in his seat, one hand toying with his glass while the other arm was flung over the booth's back. "And what is so important in the Rishi sector?"

"None of your vaping business," Traxis replied, gritting his teeth at Tabora's overly-casual mannerisms. At his invective, the Twi'lek's eyes slid up and down his armored form, though there was a different slant to his gaze than before, one that, Trax thought, held no small amount of appreciation.

Kali put a hand on his arm, a silent plea for him to shut the fek up. "It's a delicate matter," she said quietly. "But I can tell you that if we are successful when we leave Kamino, we'll have two more clones with us."

There was only certainty in her voice, and it made Traxis relax a little bit. Internally, at least. Outwardly, he kept his eyes on Tabora's hands, ensuring that the Twi'lek wasn't about to reach for his weapon, though he could not help but notice that even Tabora's slender fingers, encased in leather gloves with the tips cut off, seemed strong.

_Fek. Cool your effing jets, man._

Tabora's gaze remained calm, but Traxis did not miss the way his left  _lek_ twitched, just a bit. "Kamino." He said the name as if tasting it; his accent elongated each syllable and sent a shiver down Trax's spine. "You are aware that there is a Republic blockade around the storm-world, yes?"

Kriff. Trax hadn't considered that. He hoped his Jedi- _vod_  had, but when he risked a glance at her, he couldn't tell either way. "There are ways around a blockade," she said, shrugging. A familiar, devious gleam appeared in her eyes. "Especially when one has access to the Force."

To Traxis' surprise, the Twi'lek gave a wry chuckle. "You are the first Jedi I have encountered, and I must say, you are not at all what I expected."

Kalinda smiled as well, though the expression held no mirth. "I find myself feeling much the same way, lately." She sipped her water before she continued. "Will you agree to my terms?"

The Twi'lek lifted one of his hairless brow ridges. "We have not discussed the, ah, specifics of my payment..." He frowned. "'Master Jedi,' feels a bit too formal. What shall I call you?"

"Kali's fine," she said, reaching for her belt. Both lightsabers were placed on the table, and she looked at Tabora again. "I don't have much in the way of credits, but these are worth a great deal to the right buyer. Certainly more than the cost of fuel and, I'd wager, the usual rate for your time."

Tabora stared at her. "You're joking."

"Does she kriffing look like she's joking,  _chakaar_?"

At Trax's harsh words, the Twi'lek glanced his way, and was it his imagination, or did those brown eyes run across his body with appreciation –  _again_? But Tabora's words were cool. "Cash or credit chips are the only forms of payment I will accept."

Kalinda glanced around the diner; it was still fairly empty, and apparently Dex had ways of keeping folks from sitting near their section, but she still pitched her voice low. "I know it's unconventional, but this is what I have. They're quite valuable."

"I'm certain they are," Tabora said smoothly. "Unfortunately, I don't deal in, ah, exotic weaponry."

Traxis felt Kali's body tense beside him, and he risked tearing his eyes off of the bounty hunter to make sure she was okay. She withdrew the tiny crystal from her belt and held it up so that it caught in a shaft of light, casting miniature rainbows across the three of them. "Do you know what this is?"

"I can guess. Though," Tabora's brow furrowed as he studied the crystal, "I've never seen one in that color."

"Most lightsaber crystals are blue or green. Yellow is quite rare, and far more valuable." Kali indicated the sabers again. "These are yours now, and I'll give you this crystal, plus another, once both my men are safe. I know of a few fences on Corrie who would happily buy all of this."

"And you didn't go to them because...?"

Kali sighed. "There's that 'time is of the essence' theme again, rearing its ugly head."

The bounty hunter made a noise of disbelief and leaned back in his booth, glancing around as if searching for a hidden cam or some other fardling thing. Both his  _lekku_ were twitching now, belying his casual mien.

At last, he looked back at the Jedi and the clone, no small amount of wariness in his gaze despite his relaxed posture.  _His eyes_ , Trax thought suddenly.  _They're what give him away._  They were expressive, more so than even the  _lekku_.

As if reading the clone's thoughts, Tabora's gaze fell on Traxis, lingering a beat longer than was normal before sliding to Kali. "It is an interesting offer, but without  _actual_  credits, I cannot help you."

"Please." Kali's voice cracked over the word. "There must be something–"

"Credits," Tabora broke in, shaking his head. "By necessity, that is the language I speak. You do not. Therefore, we cannot talk any longer. You were right, Kali. The situation is quite simple."

Anger swept through Traxis, but before he could react, Tabora got to his feet and slid easily out of the booth. Traxis watched him walk out the door before he looked back at Kali, whose eyes were closed, chin drooping as if in defeat.

"It's okay," she murmured, shaking her head. "I can comm Elek again, maybe get another recommendation..."

Traxis scowled even as an idea occurred to him. "No, it's  _not_  effing okay. Wait here. I''ll be right back."

Without another word, he jumped up and hurried through the diner, heading for the door. Thanks to the orbital mirrors that controlled the weather, it was a bright, sunny day on Corrie – as most of them were – and Trax's charge into direct sunlight blinded him at first. He blinked a few times as his eyes adjusted, then caught sight of a pair of coral-colored  _lekku_ hurrying down the walkway.

Traxis broke into a jog, though he kept his hands up and away from his weapons, as he didn't want to give the wrong impression. Plus it was karking stupid to run up behind an armed person, shouting obscenities – no matter how justified.

Once he was a few paces away, he called out, "Tabora."

The Twi'lek turned, caught sight of the armored and armed clone trooper in pursuit, then took off running down the nearest alley. Traxis rolled his eyes.  _Now_  he had to chase the moron.  _Fragging bounty hunters; I'll bet my blasters this one's always up to no good._

There was no time for debate. Traxis ducked after him, and realized at once that Tabora had made an error; the alley he'd chosen was a dead-end. The Twi'lek's back was to a wall, and by now he'd drawn his blaster.

"I have no quarrel with you or your Jedi," Tabora said once Trax approached. "We can peacefully part ways, and each live to see another day."

Traxis glared at him as he stopped about five paces from the Twi'lek. "I don't want to effing part ways with you,  _chakaar._ At least not now." Hands still raised, he thumbed in the direction of the diner. "Kali needs you. So do the rest of my  _vode,_ trapped on Kamino _."_

Tabora's brow furrowed, presumably at the Mando'a. "Be that as it may,  _I_  need proper compensation for my time."

Traxis took another step forward, working hard to keep his posture and voice as nonthreatening as possible. Easier said than fekking done. "Yeah, I bet you do." He took a deep breath to gather his thoughts, but frowned at the sight of Tabora's raised pistol. "Put that fragging thing away before you shoot something."

"Shooting something is generally the reason one draws a blaster."

Traxis wriggled his gloved hands, still held up like a  _di'kut_. "If I wanted to shoot you, Tabora, you'd be dead. But as it happens, I want to effing talk. Hence the reaching-for-the-sky nonsense."

A faint, crooked smile tugged at the Twi'lek's mouth, but he slowly – too kriffing slowly – stuck his pistol in its holster. "I prefer 'Ares,'" he said.

"Fine." Still keeping his hands up, Traxis took one step closer. "Look, Ares, I don't like to eff around the zureber bush, so I have another sort of compensation to offer you."

"And that is?"

"Me."

The Twi'lek frowned at him. "I'm not sure I take your meaning."

Rolling his eyes, Traxis indicated his armored form. "If you help us, if you do as the Jedi asks, I'll... _help_  you.  _Any_  way you want, as often as you want." His mouth twisted as he gave a wry smile. "I'm pretty flexible."

By Trax's final words, Ares' mouth had fallen open and his eyes were huge as the fekking plates back at the diner. There were a couple of seconds where he didn't reply, then his eyes narrowed and he straightened his shoulders, offering a pretty impressive scowl of his own.

"You are serious...?" He made a noise of frustration. "Your name is Traxis, yes?"

Kriff, the Ryl accent did all kinds of interesting things to his name. Traxis nodded. "Yes, to both."

Both  _lekku_ twitched and Tabora met Traxis' eyes. "No."

Traxis was startled to see a measure of sadness behind the simmering anger plainly written in the bounty hunter's expression. Without another word, the Twi'lek charged past Traxis, sidestepping to avoid knocking the clone over in his haste to leave the alley.

Not about to give up, Traxis followed, placing a hand on the Twi'lek's arm to stop him. "Ares–"

 _"_ _No!"_ The bounty hunter's reaction was swift and surprisingly strong. He wrenched his arm out of Trax's grip and glared at the soldier. "I know a dozen languages; shall I repeat my answer in each one, until you understand? Credits only. No," his face twisted in disgust and what Traxis recognized as bitterness, " _other_ offers will be accepted."

"We don't  _have_  effing credits," Traxis shot back between clenched teeth, still trying to be polite. "Fek, all Kali has are the clothes on her back and her vaping sabers, and she's willing to give those up to save my brothers from death, or worse. All I have is  _me,_ and I'm willing to give that up, too, if it means we'll get them back. It's a means to an end, and it's too bad if I offended your  _delicate_  sensibilities,  _chakaar,_  but this is fekking important."

By the time Traxis finished his diatribe, his fists were clenched tight and his body shook with fury, for the bounty hunter before him and the entire,  _shabla_  situation that had brought him to this  _fekking_  alley in the first  _fekking_  place.

Ares' eyes had widened at some point during his speech, and much of the anger in his expression had fled. Some remained, though, and it added a dark edge to his next words. "Did your...Jedi put you up to this?"

"Are you fragging kidding me?" Traxis gave a bitter laugh. "She wouldn't hesitate to skewer me with  _both_  of those sabers if she knew what I had in mind when I came after you."

The Twi'lek grimaced and ran a hand down his left  _lek._ "She doesn't, ah, approve of such...affairs?"

Not entirely sure what Tabora meant, Traxis leveled his best serious look at the Twi'lek. "Kali's not your average Jedi, but even she doesn't like it when my brothers and I refer to ourselves as...tools, even though that's what we are."

"Tools." The word was flat.

By now, some of his anger had cooled, so Traxis shrugged. "We're clones. We've got no rights, no citizenship. We're just cannon fodder for this kriffing war."

Forehead creasing, Tabora cast a brief glance at his boots. "I was not aware that the clones did not have citizenship."

"My brothers and I have nothing but our memories and one another. We live and fight and die in the mud with blaster-bolts through our skulls, and life  _here_  just goes on like normal, like none of  _that_  is happening. Like nothing we do fekking matters. But that woman back there," Trax indicated the diner again, "is married to my  _vod_  and carrying his kid, and if you make her a widow  _and_  a single mother, nothing in this galaxy or any other will keep you safe from me."

And now he'd moved on to threats. Fan-kriffing-tastic. Traxis may as well have shot the damn tailhead in the brain, because there was no fardling way Tabora would be willing to help now.

Ares met his eyes again. "You had to mention there was a child, didn't you?" He sighed. "That is some dirty, dirty fighting, Traxis."

"When the ones I love are at stake, you're damn right I'll fight dirty."

Neither spoke for a moment, and the sounds of the city filtered through the alley to reach them. Traxis idly wondered if Kali would come looking for him and hoped she'd trust him to handle the situation. Okay, fine. Maybe it was effing stupid to have run after the bounty hunter like this, alone and not very well equipped, but kriff it all, he had to do  _something_.

Stonewall and Milo were out there, in a fek-load of trouble, and even if he had to do it from across the stars, Traxis would watch their six.

So he tried to rein in his temper and keep his voice steady. "Well?"

The Twi'lek took a deep breath and ran both hands over his  _lekku_ , eyes closed. "I will agree to your Jedi's terms.  _Not_  yours, though," he added, opening his eyes to glare at Traxis. "I have no wish to...have you in such a manner. Do you understand?"

 _Well, shab._ Over the years, Trax had gotten pretty good at sizing up other males' sexual preferences, so it was irksome to think he'd misread Tabora. Was it stupid to be disappointed that he'd been shot down? Probably. In any case, his solitary mission had been successful, which mattered more than his effing pride, or any piece of his anatomy for that matter.

"Loud and clear," he said gruffly, nodding once.

Ares exhaled. "Good."

There was no point in dragging this out any longer, so Traxis cleared his throat, ready to get back to business. "How soon can you leave?"

"I'll need a little time to set my affairs in order," Ares replied. "But there are not many, so it won't take much. Shall we meet again, say, tomorrow morning?"

Traxis considered. Weave, Crest and Tallis should be back within a few hours, that evening at the very latest, and getting another night's sleep was probably a good thing. It felt like fekking forever since Stonewall and Mi had been captured, but the reality was that about only a day and a half had passed.

He wished he had Kali's certainty they'd pull this stunt off. "0600 hours?" he asked. When Ares frowned in confusion, Traxis rolled his eyes. "Early as fek," he clarified. "Also known as six o'clock in the morning, in civilian-speak."

The Twi'lek gave a look of exaggerated shock. "They have one of those in the  _morning_?" Traxis glowered at him, and Ares raised his hands as if in apology. "Very well. Six it is."

"Trax?"

Both males turned as the dark-haired Jedi approached, a not-too-pleased expression on her face at the sight of Tabora's raised hands and what Traxis figured was his own threatening posture; it was sort of his natural state of being.

Before she got the wrong idea, Traxis nodded to the Twi'lek. "Good news: Ares here has agreed to take us to Kamino."

"Is that so?" Kali asked, looking at the bounty hunter.

Ares hooked his thumbs in his holster and gave the Jedi a surprisingly warm smile. "It took a bit of, ah, discussion, but your valiant soldier has convinced me."

Kalinda eyed Traxis warily. "What sort of 'discussion?'"

"Don't worry,  _vod,_ it wasn't violent," Trax replied. He wondered if Ares would mention his  _other_ offer; not his proudest moment, to be sure, but like her lightsabers, Traxis considered  _himself_  a means to an end, if the situation demanded such a thing. Perhaps he could have offered some of his weapons, but he had no way of knowing if Crest and Weave's mission would be successful, nor even how much money such things were worth.

"Trax is correct. No one was harmed." Tabora began digging through his coat-pockets, searching the outer and inner ones until he withdrew a small piece of flimsi and a stylus. Using the alley wall as a surface, he scribbled something on the flimsi and offered it to Traxis.

_Eastport Docking Facility_

_Section 75, Bay 67_

"My ship, the  _Stark Raven_ , is docked at that location," Tabora said as he put away his flimsi and stylus. "The  _Raven_ and I will both see you – and your companions – at," his mouth quirked into a crooked, half-smile, "0600 tomorrow. You have my promise."

Kalinda exhaled once, and Traxis was relieved to see that  _she_ was relieved, which meant he'd done some good after all. "Thank you, Ares," she said. "I suppose all that's left is your down payment."

The Twi'lek inclined his head in agreement. With a deep breath, Kalinda unclipped her sabers from her belt, and it was only because he was looking closely that Traxis saw how her hands trembled. She handed both hilts to Ares, who carefully slid them in one of his inner coat-pockets.

"Do you need the name of a fence?" she asked as she watched his movements.

Ares chuckled. "You mean, one that's likely being watched by the Jedi Order? No, thank you. I'll manage. I'll find my own, ah, vendors."

A flush crept to Kali's cheeks, but she nodded, all Jedi once more. She gave the bounty hunter a small bow. "Until tomorrow."

"Until then," he replied.

She turned to leave the alley, but Trax lingered for one moment. Stepping close to the bounty hunter, he met and held Tabora's gaze, ensuring his own was filled with durasteel. "If you cross her," he said quietly, "you will regret it."

Ares did not drop his eyes, nor step back. "I have many regrets," he said in his lilting accent. "I doubt one more would make a difference."

Kali called from the alley's edge. "Let's move out, Trax."

Ignoring her for a moment, Traxis narrowed his eyes. "Maybe so, but it would be your last one. That's  _my_  promise."

With that, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the alley, after his Jedi- _vod._

* * *

A/N: So, so, SO much fun to write Trax and Ares! [rubs hands] Just wait...

Bonus points if you can find the nod to  _Gilmore Girls._ ;)

Next time: checking in with Weave, Crest and Honi.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

Lyrics: ["Living Proof," by Cat Power, from  _The Greatest._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-qQyWdJp1Eg&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp&index=15)

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen**

_How could you come undone to a word so strong?_

_My beating heart, the anchor to a ship so warm._

_You're supposed to have the answer,_

_You're supposed to have living proof._

_Well I am your answer, I am living._

_Earlier..._

Keeping his grip on the airspeeder's steering yoke firm, Weave glanced at his  _vod_ and sighed. Judging by the bio-readings streaming across his HUD, Crest's heart rate was elevated, his breathing was short, and his body temperature was a few degrees too warm. In Weave's professional opinion, Crest was suffering from a mild anxiety attack.

The plastoid armor hid most signs of discomfort, but Weave's kit – like that of all medics and most officers – was tied into his brothers' in order to provide the stream of information that was essential to his job of keeping everyone in good working order.

"Feeling alright?" he asked Crest over the clones' private comm-channel.

The bald clone's gulp was audible. "Yeah. Just...not too keen on being back in this  _shabla_ thing again."

Weave ensured that his voice was reassuring. "It's okay,  _vod._ No one's going to ask you to climb around on the roof."

"It was the undercarriage, then it turned into the roof. And don't kriffing remind me." Crest groaned and leaned his helmet back against the seat. "My guts feel like they're doing the Bynarrian jig."

"We're nearly at the Temple," Weave replied, indicating the distinctive ziggurat ahead. "Try to hold out a little longer."

Crest was silent, which was rather alarming.

But there wasn't much Weave could do about his brother's discomfort at the moment. Logically, he knew that Crest wasn't in any true danger, and he had to focus on steering the vehicle. But still, the medic had to fight the urge to fish out an anti-nausea hypo from his kit.

A flicker of copper caught his eye, and he caught sight of General Tallis through the rearview mirror in time to see how her blue eyes darted between the clones before they closed. The morning light caught in her long lashes, which almost brushed her freckled cheek. Weave glanced ahead to ensure that the airspeeder was still on course, then looked back and watched as the Jedi's chest lifted and fell, slowly. He'd seen Kalinda do much the same thing, and knew Tallis was accessing the Force.

Odd. Weave looked ahead again and saw they were perhaps five minutes away from the Temple, so he tightened his grip on the steering yoke and went over the plan in his head. Return the airspeeder, clean out the  _Wayfarer,_ and head back to Taung Heights in another vehicle, one that Tallis could legitimately check out. Hopefully the op would be simple and fast, and before too long they'd be resupplied and back with Kalinda and Traxis.

A deep sigh came over the clones' comm-channel, causing Weave to glance at Crest in alarm. "What's up,  _vod?"_

Crest's voice was perplexed. "It's weird...I feel totally fine all of a sudden. Like someone just...erased the motion-sickness." He cleared his throat. "Not that I was getting air-sick or anything. You know...it's just a figure of speech."

"Huh. Well, that's good, I guess."

Weave glanced in the mirror again, noting how Tallis' eyes were open once more, and her breathing was normal.

It may have been a figment of his imagination or a trick of the light, but just for a moment, he swore her gaze met his through the mirror.

* * *

_A little later..._

"Was it just me, or was that 'Podger' fellow  _really_ excited to have the airspeeder back?"

Weave couldn't suppress a grin. Luckily, in full kit, he didn't have to, and private comm-channels allowed the clones to speak without being overheard. "Yeah, he was pleased."

Crest chuckled as they walked with General Tallis, flanking her slender form as she strode through the Temple hangar. "No  _osik._ He kept going on about 'reprimands,' too. Wonder what that was about?"

"No telling."

His brother said something else, but Weave only half-listened. The majority of his senses had gone toward sussing out the surrounding area. They'd been fortunate so far, but Weave wasn't holding his breath that the streak would continue now that they were getting to the trickiest part of the whole ordeal.

Ahead of them, tucked in the far corner of the hangar – precisely where they'd left her – was the familiar, boxy shape of the  _Wayfarer,_ dark and silent, with two troopers standing guard fore and aft _._ To his surprise, Weave felt a twinge of remorse at the sight. The light freighter had served as Shadow Squad's command-base, method of transportation, and home for over a year, after an unfortunate string of damaged or too-small vessels.

He glanced at Crest, who'd fallen silent. "You've got Trax's list, right?"

"Yep. I'll need some help with all the music instruments." Crest sighed. "Kriff. It'd be so much simpler to commandeer this thing again."

"You know we can't do that,  _vod._ We're taking enough chances sneaking in here as it is. It might be a long time before they notice supplies are missing–"

"If they haven't already gutted it," Crest broke in.

"No matter what,  _someone's_ bound to notice the ship flying out of here."

"I still don't understand why  _she_  can't check it out or something," Crest said, nodding to the Jedi who walked before them.

Tallis' gait was smooth and unhurried, as it'd been the moment they'd left Taung Heights. To an outsider, the trio would look like any normal Jedi and a pair of clone troopers, no doubt on perfectly legitimate business.

It was a ruse, though, and a rather flimsy one at that. Weave resisted the urge to shake his head; physical movements like that would give away the conversation he and his  _vod_ were having. "She's taking a huge risk even doing this much for us. Kalinda said as much back at the apartment."

"We're  _all_  taking kriffing risks," Crest said, his voice uncommonly serious. In the next moment, though, he sighed and tightened his grip on his standard DC-15S blaster. "Sorry. I'm still not feeling too great, I guess. I don't like being kept in the dark."

"Neither do I."

"What were they going to do when Kali started...getting bigger? Were they ever going to tell us?"

"I'm sure they were," Weave said as calmly as he could. "But it's a huge thing, you know? Two - no  _three -_ huge things, and I think they each needed some time to process it all. Kriff, I'm not sure  _I'll_ be able to process any of it, at least not in the immediate future."

Crest was silent a few moments. "I don't think they meant any harm."

"Me either."

"This whole thing blows asteroids," Crest added with a deep sigh.

Weave didn't have to ask what his brother meant.

The whole situation was...unpleasant, to say the very least. All of the new "intel" notwithstanding, their chances of success on this mission – the larger mission – were razor-thin. Assuming they could even  _get_ to Kamino in one piece, reaching Stonewall and Milo was a whole other ordeal, one he wasn't sure how to handle. How was Kalinda planning on getting through the blockade if she couldn't even check out a speeder?

When they reached the  _Wayfarer,_ one of the troopers on guard lifted a hand in greeting as he approached. "General," he said, offering a salute. "How may I help you?"

Tallis gave a short bow of greeting. "I've orders to search this vessel and confiscate any non-standard issue items."

The trooper's helmet inclined to one side. "Forgive me, sir, but I wasn't aware that you were coming."

"Hoo boy," Crest muttered over their comms. "I have a bad feeling about this."

But the copper-haired Jedi remained calm. No, Weave realized, not calm. Kalinda probably would have been calm here, maybe even offered the trooper a pretty smile to set the fellow at ease. Honi Tallis simply lifted her chin and injected heavy notes of authority into her polished Coruscanti accent.

"Well,  _I_ have my orders." She lifted a coppery brow at the clone. "It is not my fault you weren't informed. Are you going to delay me any further, or are you going to let me perform my duties?"

The other trooper was looking over, probably wondering what was going on, but the first one seemed to think better of trying to argue with the Jedi. He made a hand-gesture to his partner, one Weave recognized as  _it's okay,_ and saluted Tallis briskly before stepping aside.

"Please proceed, General," he said, indicating the lowered boarding ramp.

But Tallis leveled a stern look at the fellow. "If my information is correct, there is quite a lot of contraband aboard this vessel. My men neglected to bring an adequate method of transportation for it. Have a gravsled and several storage crates sent over at once."

With that, she turned on her heel and strode over the ramp, to the  _Wayfarer's_  interior. Weave and Crest made to follow, when the trooper she'd spoken to signaled to Weave over a general comm-channel.

"Good luck," he said, adding a slight shake of his head.

Weave felt a smile tug at his mouth. "Thanks. We usually need it."

"Especially since we started working with  _her_ ," Crest broke in, elbowing Weave's side. "Well, maybe a little before that, too..."

* * *

Inside the  _Wayfarer_ , everything was the same, but somehow completely different. It was kind of weird. The last time Crest and his brothers had been inside the vessel, they'd been a whole, happy squad, a little peeved to have been called to Corrie so suddenly, but looking forward to an afternoon off while the boss did her Jedi-thing at the Temple.

It'd been like any other day, totally normal. Crest shook his head.  _Shab_. Not normal in the least; she'd been pregnant, secretly married to Stonewall, who was Force-sensitive.

What the kriff was  _normal_ , anyway?

Weave and Tallis were in the galley, where the medic had stowed most of his supplies, so Crest sighed heavily and headed to the cabin he and Trax had shared, which was where the scarred clone had indicated all of his preferred weaponry was stored. There was actually a pretty sweet assortment of blaster cannons and other heavy-duty artillery in the cargo bay, but Traxis hadn't thought they'd be able to carry everything.

The cabin was dark. Crest flicked on the lights and surveyed the two bunks with amusement. Trax was tidy by nature, never leaving his bed without tucking in the blanket and ensuring that all his gear was neatly stored beneath the bunk. By contrast, Crest had relinquished any semblance of tidiness a long time ago, so his bunk was a mass of sheets, blankets, and more than a few food wrappers. He also ate in bed, mostly because it annoyed his scarred brother to no end.

Beneath Trax's bunk were three weapon cases. Crest checked their contents against the list Traxis had provided, then placed them on the bunk to grab on his way out. Beneath his bunk, in addition to a few honey-sticks he'd forgotten about and some  _private_ datapads, was a padded case of his own, brimming with ordnance goodies. He grinned at the sight of the neat rolls of det tape and the thermal dets, all cozy in their padding before setting that case aside with Trax's. There was a moment of debate about the datapads, then he shoved his favorite in his belt, because...well,  _because_.

Crest brought the four cases to the galley, setting them alongside the dining table, where Weave and Tallis were collecting the medical supplies. As he set the cases down, he realized the two of them were engrossed in kind of an interesting conversation.

"I thought it was common for squads such as yours to mark their gear," Tallis was saying as Weave handed her his spare medic-pack.

"Well, I have an insignia that states I'm a medic, but we never really got around to marking our kits like a lot of other squads," Weave replied, shrugging. "And when it came down to it, having unmarked armor worked to our advantage. A lot of our missions were diplomatic in nature, and Kalinda," Tallis' brows knitted at this, so Weave amended, "General Halcyon said it was best if we appeared as neutral as possible so as not to show any affiliation other than the Republic."

"Right," Crest added, setting down the four cases he'd collected. "We had to be the poster-boys for the GAR on a lot of missions. The captain has some crimson piping on his kit, just to show his rank, but that's about it."

Weave nodded. "That's not to say we didn't have enough gear to outfit a platoon. We were sent to a huge variety of locations, so we had kits for everything from jungle to snow."

The medic's words quickened as he became more interested in whatever he was saying, and wanted to convey as much information in as short a time as possible. "Some of us had already marked our gear from our last posts, but it's protocol to switch markings on your armor if you switch postings."

Crest smiled inwardly at his  _vod_ 's eagerness to share this information with the pretty Jedi, who was regarding him with interest.  _He's such a sucker for Jedi fems, I swear. Good thing the boss was pretty much taken from Day One._ "Trax was from Torrent Company, so his gear was marked with blue. Yours truly was in the 104th Battalion, and had the kit to prove it."

"That's right," Weave said, amusement in his voice. "You were part of the Wolfpack, weren't you?"

"Yeah, for one glorious month." Crest chuckled at the memories. "I was assigned to them to help supplement their losses after that mess near Abregado, but...it wasn't a great fit. For anyone."

Tallis looked between them, curiosity written on her face. "What does that mean?"

Before Crest could answer, Weave broke in, his tone still a little too enthusiastic as he spoke to the copper-haired Jedi. "Have you ever met Commander Wolffe, General?"

"Yes. Zara and I have worked with Master Plo several times."

"Just imagine Crest and Wolffe in the same room," Weave said, nodding to Crest. "And maybe you can understand that they were not always on the best of terms."

Crest laughed outright at this. "Isn't  _that_ the understatement of the year! The good commander  _hated_ me. I'm ninety-nine percent sure he fudged the transfer orders, to send me instead of the other guy that was slated to join Kalinda. I swear, the look on Stonewall's face when he realized  _I'd_ been sent instead of the guy he'd requested...it was priceless."

His mirth faded at the thought of Stonewall, and he turned back to the gear he'd collected. Maybe he didn't want to take the  _Wayfarer_ any longer. Too many memories.

Perhaps catching on to the tenor of his thoughts, the Jedi cleared her throat and glanced toward the hatch. "They should have the gravsled sent over soon. What else do you need?"

"Just the instruments, I think," Weave replied.

"And any other odds and ends we see lying around," Crest added.

Tallis made to reply, but a chirruping sound cut off her words. She frowned and withdrew her hand-held comlink. "This is Knight Tallis."

A girl's voice came over the link. "Master? Are you back from your errand? You're needed in the Halls. It's urgent," she added quickly, as if Tallis was about to cut her off.

The Jedi sighed deeply. "Very well. I'll be there shortly." Without saying goodbye, she ended the transmission and glanced between the two clones. "Hopefully this won't take long. Finish gathering what you need; I'll return here when I've finished."

Crest and Weave exchanged glances, and Crest knew from his  _vod's_ posture that the medic was just as uncomfortable with this new development as he was. After all, Tallis was pretty damn central to their plan; without her clearance, Crest didn't have the foggiest idea how he and Weave would get all the gear back to Taung Heights.

So he cleared his throat. "Copy that, General. But...you, know, I don't want to tell you how to do your job or anything, but please hurry back."

* * *

By the time Honi arrived at the Halls of Healing, she had to reach very,  _very_ deep to access a proper state of calm as befitting a Jedi Knight. The day's events had jumbled her normal sense of control, catching her in a relentless loop of cause and effect, and she did not know how to break free.

Nor did she know how to quantify everything she'd learned. Kalinda was  _married, pregnant_ , and in all likelihood was leaving the Jedi Order. And she, Honi Tallis, proficient Healer and paragon of propriety, was aiding and abetting. It was illogical and probably would not end well with regards to her own career in the Order, but Honi could not sit idly by while Kalinda clearly needed her aid.

It was the one certainty she could cling to: her former Master and close friend, was in trouble, and Honi needed to help. For all that she often found it irksome, such a desire was as much a part of her as her breath and bones.

So it was with sufficiently less calm than she preferred that Honi threaded her way through the bustling Halls toward the room where she sensed her Padawan. Once she reached the closed door, marked "do not disturb" – which didn't apply to  _her,_ of course – Honi took a moment to smooth out her hair and tunic, then stepped inside.

Zara met her at the door, dark, liquid eyes huge. "Master!"

For Force's sake, was the girl in a constant state of shock? Honi did not hide her sigh of annoyance. "Yes, Zara. It's me. What's..."

"Hello, Honi," a refined, Coruscanti accent greeted her.

Honi barely glanced toward the figure in the bed. "Hello, Master Kenobi."

He gave one of those dry chuckles she knew so well. "Well, it's good to see  _one_  person not fazed by my sudden rebirth."

At this, her heart froze and her mouth fell open as the full weight of the words, and the man who spoke them, hit her squarely in the chest. She gaped at the "dead" Jedi Master for several moments, only partly aware that her expression mirrored Zara's.

"Obi-Wan?" she said, all propriety forgotten.

His answering smile was warm and slightly amused. "In the flesh. Though," he absently stroked his chin, where his auburn beard was short and a little scruffy, "not entirely good as new, I'm afraid."

Indeed, he didn't look quite as Honi remembered. In addition to the scruff of a beard, the hair on top of his head looked as if it had been shaved to only a few inches, much shorter than the last time she'd seen him. He was clothed in a soft set of cotton pants and a shirt. Physically, he showed signs of living a hard life since his "death;" the hollows of his cheeks were more pronounced, and there were faint, agitated ripples in his generally calm Force-presence.

He allowed her one moment of query before shuttering himself away. Blinking, Honi frowned at him. "Master Kenobi, I must examine you–"

"I can assure you, Honi, I've been thoroughly examined today. Aside from the hair – or lack thereof – I am more or less in satisfactory condition."

There was an edge to his voice that belied his words, but Honi wasn't sure what to make of it. So she nodded and glanced down at the sheets of the bio-bed, smoothing out an errant wrinkle as she considered what to ask first.

At last she looked up, into his blue eyes. "I hardly know where to begin..."

"Everyone thought you were dead!" Zara piped up.

Obi-Wan gave the Padawan a faint, sad smile. "It was a necessary deception. I regret it a great deal." He looked back at Honi, "There are many people who will be quite cross with me."

Honi glanced at Zara, who held a scanner loosely in her blue fingers. "What are you doing?"

The girl flushed a deep indigo and lifted the scanner once more, running it carefully over Obi-Wan's form while Honi regarded the Jedi Master with a more skeptical look. "If you've been deemed healthy, why are you still here?"

"I asked your Padawan to call you for...another reason." He toyed with the datapad in his grip, turning it so she could catch a glimpse of the screen. Even from here, she could see the name  _Kalinda Halcyon_ , and make out the familiar news article.

"Zara," she said suddenly. "Please bring Master Kenobi some proper clothes. It's not fitting that one of the Council members should be running around in his sleep-pants."

Zara gave a slight huff of annoyance, but Honi shot the girl a look that quelled any incipient disagreement. Zara bowed and slipped out of the room, and Honi looked back at Obi-Wan.

He held up the 'pad. "Is it true?"

"How should I know?"

"Honi."

It was as much of a warning as a request for cooperation, and from a high-ranking member of the Jedi Council, no less, but Honi still hesitated to reveal too much. To buy herself some time, she crossed her arms before her chest and met Obi-Wan's gaze. "Did Master Windu already speak to you?"

He shook his head. "I only learned of it a few minutes ago, as I was looking over current events. I fear I've been somewhat out of the loop." He seemed to debate something, then took a deep breath. "Honi, if she's in danger, I would like to know."

"She's fine," Honi broke in before she could stop herself. Her cheeks flushed and she looked away, at the plain, white walls. "Or so I imagine."

"Has she truly," his voice softened, "defected?"

Honi's eyes closed of their own accord, though it was brief. "I...don't know."

Then he was standing before her; he'd moved so quickly, she had not registered the fact until it'd happened. His posture was not threatening in any way, nor even dominant, but she felt the full weight of his Force-presence press upon her, relaying the seriousness with which he regarded this next question.

"You do know, don't you?" he asked.

"I..." She swallowed, then lifted a trembling hand to her mouth.

He placed a hand on her shoulder, urging her eyes to his. "Please, tell me, Honi."

"I can't–"

The door slid open, causing both of them to turn. Zara stood at the threshold, carrying a set of beige robes and wearing a somewhat scandalized expression. But Honi had never been more relieved to see her Padawan.

" _There_  you are," she said, sweeping away from Obi-Wan and all but running for the door. "I was starting to wonder if you'd gotten lost."

"Uh..."

Ignoring Zara's lack of response, Honi tossed the clothing toward the Jedi Master using the Force. "Come on," she said, grabbing Zara's hand. "We have much work to do."

It took every ounce of her self-control to keep her thoughts away from Kalinda and the two clones waiting on her in the Temple hangar as she sent Zara off on a series of tasks that would likely take the rest of the afternoon. Once her Padawan had scuttled off to the labs, Honi glanced around the bustling Halls, searching both visually and through the Force for a sign that she was being followed.

Nothing.

She exhaled deeply, and began to make her way to the Halls' exit. Perhaps she should comm Kalinda, to warn her, just in case...

No, she decided, giving a slight shake of her head as she reached the turbolift. Kalinda had enough on her plate without this. Even if Obi-Wan wanted to act as a  _friend_ and not a Council member, the sheer shock of seeing him alive was certain to be more than Kalinda could handle. At least right now.

Satisfied with her decision, Honi entered the hangar-level on the 'lift's controls. The doors closed and the 'lift hummed beneath her boots as she descended.

* * *

A/N: Podge got his speeder back! Just in time. I know you were worried. ;)

So, if you've followed any of Shadow Squad's (mis)adventures over the years, you might notice that I took a bit of time off from them to write a variety of other things, original and fanfic-related. Rest assured, Kali and the guys were on my mind constantly; a lot of elements in this story are the product of my expanding "headcanon" (or is it "fanon?") that I've been brainstorming over the years.

I've not written a lot of it down – until now. The clones' unpainted armor is one element, while Crest's past with the Wolfpack is another.

Next time: Obi's POV.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

Lyrics:[ "Feel It All," by KT Tunstall, from the album,  _Invisible Empire / Crescent Moon._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Be2Xq_-YwQ&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp&index=16)

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen**

_So take what you want,_

_Leave what you don't need._

_I'll go looking for you,_

_You keep your eye out for me._

In some ways, it was easier to be dead than alive.

Officially, there was nowhere he had to be right now. Only a handful of Jedi knew the truth; Yoda and Mace had made it clear that he was to take at least one day off to fully recuperate from the several-months-too-long ordeal of being Rako Hardeen. He'd planned to spend the day in meditation, but the HNN story and Honi Tallis' attempt at deception alerted him to another matter that needed his attention.

Obi-Wan Kenobi gathered the Force to him like a cloak, ensuring that neither Honi, nor whomever she was so set upon rejoining, would be able to sense his presence, and made his way to the Temple hangar. Upon his arrival, he waited in the shadows until Honi appeared, striding briskly across the duracrete floor toward a familiar ship at the far end. Kali's ship, though it took him a moment to recall the name,  _Wayfarer._ A gravsled rested at the base of the boarding ramp. Upon it was stacked a few, unmarked storage crates.

Four clones stood beside the gravsled. All wore the standard white, unmarked armor, and judging from their posture and mannerisms, they were engaged in a lively conversation over their comm-channels. The moment they caught sight of Honi Tallis, however, they each snapped into a crisp salute and lined up in a neat row before the  _Wayfarer._

Still keeping his presence cloaked, Obi-Wan moved closer, keeping to the shadows until he drew close enough to overhear what was being said.

"Is everything ready?" Honi was asking one of the clones.

The fellow gave her another salute. "Yes, General. All the contraband has been cleared out of the vessel."

"Good." She looked at another clone. "We'll be leaving, now. Thank you for your cooperation."

A flicker of bewilderment rippled from the clone, but his reply was steady. "Any time, General."

She nodded to the first clone she'd spoken to; he hopped into the gravsled's control area and began to activate the thrusters while Honi and another clone stepped aboard as well. Gravsleds like this model were equipped to carry passengers as well as cargo, and the vehicle began to float toward the hangar's exit, its pace increasing with each passing second. Moments later, it breached the threshold to the outside and disappeared into the afternoon light.

Evidently, there was not a moment to lose.

Obi-Wan darted toward another section of the hangar, one that held an assortment of airspeeders and other vehicles meant for planetside use. He selected the nearest one, a gray and crimson vehicle that looked as though it had seen better days, and slipped into the cab.

As he was firing up the engine, a clone came rushing up, his voice breathless. "Sir! Sir! Wait one moment, please!"

Keeping his expression calm, Obi-Wan regarded the young man. "Yes?"

"This vehicle isn't available, sir. It was only just returned, and as you can see is in need of significant repairs. I can find you another–"

"I'm sorry," Obi-Wan broke in, "but I'm in a bit of a hurry. This one will do fine."

He considered a mind-trick, but decided against it as he revved the engine to further get his point across. The clone hesitated, then held up his datapad. "Very well, General. If you'll just give me your name so I can check your clearance?"

 _Sweet Force_. Not that he'd  _enjoyed_ being a criminal, but there were certain advantages to living outside the law – and the bureaucracy. Still, it wasn't the clone's fault; he was simply doing his job. Obi-Wan gave the fellow a tight smile and said his name.

Nodding, the clone entered the information into his datapad, which emitted a rather unhappy noise. "Uhh..." The clone looked up at him, radiating uncertainty and confusion. "It must be a mistake. It says here your clearance has been rescinded because you're...er... _dead?_ "

Obi-Wan sighed. Perhaps being dead was overrated, at least in this one instance.

He reached through the Force to sense Honi; she was moving farther away, her thoughts determined and focused on a certain dark-haired woman they both had in common. Before too long, he'd not be able to track her in this way. Such was the necessity of his next action.

"It must be a mistake," he agreed, nodding at the clone and lifting his hand to send a pulse of Force energy his way. "Surely you can overlook it, this one time."

"I can...overlook it, one time," the clone replied, a frown in his voice. "But please, have the speeder back before tonight."

"Of course," Obi-Wan said, revving the engines once more. However, a flare of guilt struck him, so before he sped off he glanced at the young clone. "And thank you...?"

The clone's answering salute was sharp enough to cut durasteel. "Podger, sir."

"Podger." Obi-Wan inclined his head. "Take care. I'll be back soon."

* * *

Kalinda felt Ben before she saw him. At first she thought she'd truly lost her mind, but the querying brush against her Force-presence was too familiar to be a figment of her imagination. Even so, her stomach flipped and her throat tightened at the realization that he, of all people, at  _all_ times, was alive.

There were too many questions for her to even settle on one, but even through all the answers she wanted, she  _needed_ to see her old friend. Trying to keep her expression from indicating her agitation, Kali glanced at the door to the apartment. Honi, Weave and Crest had returned an hour ago and were going through all the supplies they'd gathered, and Traxis was dissecting the meeting with Tabora, though Kali thought there was something he wasn't telling her.

Regardless, her insane plan was falling into place. In just over twelve hours, what was left of Shadow Squad would be on their way to Kamino.

She'd tried countless times, without success, to reach her husband. One more wouldn't make any difference.  _I'm coming for you, Stonewall,_ she thought, stretching out her awareness along the thread of love that connected them. His presence was faint, so faint. Almost nothing at all, and he was so far away.  _Soon,_ she promised.  _You and Milo please just hang on a little longer._

"Kalinda?"

She glanced at her former Padawan, who was regarding her with irritation. "Yes?"

"I asked how you're feeling."

Kali stretched her arms over her head, then twisted around to pop her back-joints. "A little restless. I think I might go for a walk."

The clones exchanged glances, but it was Weave who spoke. "Do you think that's a good idea?"

"No." She gave the medic a wink. "I think it's a  _great_ idea. You've all got this under control, and I feel a bit useless. I'd like to stretch my legs; I've been cramped up here for too long."

"It's only been a day," Crest pointed out as she stood up.

"Feels like longer," Kali said as she moved to the door. She glanced at the others, all of whom were watching her with varying degrees of wariness. "Calm down; I'll be back very soon. I have my shield, so I can hide if need be, and I have my comlink, so I can call for help if I need it."

Without waiting for a response, she slipped out the door.

By now it was rush hour, and traffic was thick, even this deep into the city's underbelly. Airspeeders buzzed by, each intent on its own goal, and no one paid any mind to the lone woman who stepped onto the platform outside of the apartment building.

A man in Jedi-robes leaned against a crimson-striped airspeeder, arms crossed before his chest, eyes distant, apparently oblivious to everything outside of his mind. Kali had to sigh when she caught sight of the familiar vehicle. _Of all the ones he could have gotten..._

"I swear on all that's holy, you'd better return that speeder as soon as we're done," Kali said as she approached him.

Ben's eyes opened and he gave her one of those wry looks she'd missed so. "Of course."

For a moment they faced one another, neither paying any attention to the traffic that zoomed overhead, and beneath their feet where the city stretched down, down. Kali studied him as he studied her. Of course, he'd have heard. Honi had been a little agitated when she'd returned, but Kali realized now that it'd had nothing to do with the mission, and everything to do with the fact that she'd known Obi-Wan Kenobi was alive. But Honi would have told her if she'd deliberately led Obi-Wan here, so Kali figured he'd come undercover, somehow.

She swept her gaze across his face, noting the too-short hair and prickle of stubble that was so unlike him. Strange to think she'd ever found the beard odd; only with its absence did she realize how well it suited him.

"What the kriff happened to your hair?" she asked at last.

A smile tugged at his mouth. "Ah, good. I thought you were going to be cross with me."

"I haven't made up my mind yet," she warned him. He indicated the airspeeder but she didn't move. "I'm not going back to the Temple," she said, meeting his gaze.

The smile faded and he shook his head. "I simply want to talk, Kali. We can just," his blue eyes twinkled, "cruise around."

Despite herself, Kali chuckled at the shared memory evoked by his words, and she slid into the airspeeder, Obi-Wan following. He shut the door, activated the thrusters, and eased them into the nearest line of traffic. Neither spoke for a few minutes while she toyed with the radio, searching for something tolerable. At last she settled on a heavy isotope station and leaned back in her seat to allow the wind from their passage tugged her hair.

"What happened?"

They each spoke at the same time. Kali glanced at Obi-Wan –  _Ben_ , to her, now and forever – and they exchanged a smile. "Age before beauty," she said, lifting her hand. "You go first."

He sighed, and began his story. An undercover mission, of course. A new identity, naturally. It explained the hair. She decided to research pictures of Hardeen once she had a spare moment, because it was impossible for her to imagine Ben as anyone else. At least the Chancellor was safe.

"I'm sorry," she said once he'd finished. He gave her an odd look and she ensured her eyes held a measure of durasteel. "I wasn't able to go to the funeral."

His fingers tightened on the steering yoke. They'd broken through to the upper levels and were well and truly stuck in traffic now, and only moved slowly, when at all. "I never wanted to hurt you," he said quietly. "Or Anakin. Or," he paused, "Satine. But it was a necessary deception, Kali. If those closest to me didn't believe I'd been killed, the mission wouldn't have been successful."

Kali took a deep breath to steady herself. "I know. And on some level, I understand that, and can accept it. But, Ben," she grimaced and rested her hands on her abdomen, looking out into the fading daylight and the city far below, "you were dead. I mourned you and I made peace with you being gone. And now..."

A warm hand covered her shoulder. "I know. And I'm sorry. I truly am."

Strange, how even now she could not cry over Obi-Wan Kenobi. Maybe she'd done so too much throughout her life; maybe she knew better. After a few moments Kali sighed again and looked back his way. The setting sun caught in his auburn hair and set it afire while casting the hollows of his cheeks in shadow. "You look terrible," she said. "Didn't they feed you in bounty hunter school, or wherever you were?"

"Living outside the law took its toll. But I'll recover. I always have."

She made a noncommittal noise and looked back out the window, reaching out her hand to feel the cool evening air on her skin. A song came on, one she remembered from her teenage years; if she closed her eyes, this would have been any other evening, decades ago.

Until he said her name. "Kali."

"Stonewall's gone," she said, still keeping her eyes closed, letting the cool air caress her face. "Someone found out about his abilities. He and Milo were both arrested and sent to Kamino, but I'm going to get them back."

Obi-Wan was silent as she told her own story, leaving out nothing. Perhaps he was the one person who got the truth of it all in one go. The longer she talked, the more she could see he was affected but trying to hide the fact. His hands grew tight on the steering yoke when she mentioned Balasi, and he sucked in his breath when she told him about Coraux.

By the time she finished the tale, Obi-Wan's silence was deep, equal parts thoughtful and bewildered. Until he looked her way. "Why?"

"Why what?"

Blue eyes dropped to her belly. "You know what."

Kali toyed with the edges of her braid, running them over her chin as she considered her answer. "I want a child, Ben. I want a family – with Stone. He wanted –  _wants_  – one, too. "

He frowned. "There's more to the situation than that."

"What if there isn't?" She did not hide the agitation in her voice as the words tumbled from her mouth. "What's so wrong with wanting to have a family  _and_ be a Jedi? Why can't I do both?"

"You, better than almost anyone else, know the dangers of attachment. Even now, you're forsaking your responsibilities for your attachments."

Kali sat up, tossing the braid over her shoulder. "What responsibilities? I'm on probation, remember? They were going to have me teach younglings at the Temple again. I think I'm making a far better use of my time."

Obi-Wan exhaled deeply and he lifted one hand from the yoke to rub his forehead. "Be that as it may," he said slowly, "you are still acting this way because you are letting yourself be swayed by your attachments. Not to mention the fact that you were put on probation in the first place for forming said attachments."

True enough. Kali shut her eyes and reached deep within herself, searching for a sense of regret. She found it. Stonewall and Milo deserved better, and if she could go back and change anything, it would be to find some way to safeguard the two of them against their fate. But that wasn't possible, and even if it was, Stone might still have been arrested because of his Force-abilities. She had not deliberately passed them on to him, but she could not ignore the fact that they'd loved one another, then he'd somehow gotten use of the Force. Surely there was a connection.

Perhaps a proper Jedi would have at least wished they'd never fallen in love. But Kali was only herself, and she could not regret loving Stonewall; nor did she think he would regret loving her. He'd told her as much on more than one occasion. She knew, with every sinew and synapse, that she did not regret their relationship, for all the trouble it had caused.

She sighed and looked back at her oldest friend. "I don't know what I could have done differently, or what I'd have wanted to do differently."

"As Jedi, our lives are not about what we  _want_ ," he replied immediately, "but what good we can do. We all must make sacrifices."

"To what extent?" He frowned, but she shook her head. "I won't deny that my actions are not that of a 'proper' Jedi, but I don't think I'm entirely in the wrong. I just think...I just think I need to find my own way, Ben."

"What does that mean, to you?"

The speeder angled into a turn, moving with the lanes of traffic. Kali knew that ahead, a little to the left, was the distinctive ziggurat of the Jedi Temple; it was far, far out of sight, but never quite out of mind. She glanced at Ben once more. "I'm not like you, or Mace, or Luminara or any of the others. I can't take the weight of the galaxy on my shoulders and not bat an eyelash. I can't stop myself from wanting anything  _more_ than a life of sacrifice. I'm not equipped for this life; I'm starting to think I've never been."

Ben's hands tightened over the steering yoke once more. "I did not seek you out to offer sympathy or consolation for your misguided actions."

"Then why did you track me down?"

For a long moment, he said nothing, then he shook his head once. "I simply wanted to  _see_  you, Kali. That's all. And for the record," he added, a trace of wryness in his voice, "you're not a poor Jedi."

Heat coursed through her veins and her jaw tightened at his words. Even though he meant them as a kindness, they heightened her indignation. "Ben, look at me," she said sharply. "Look in my eyes and tell me I'm a good Jedi."

He did, though briefly. "It's not my place to judge you."

"You're on the kriffing Council," she replied wryly. "If anyone's going to judge my worth as a Jedi, it should probably be you."

"What do you want me to say? It's true, you have made choices that, quite frankly, baffle me, and that go against the Code we are sworn to live by. But," his eyes slid her way once more, "I cannot say I am truly surprised by your actions."

"Wow. Thanks."

He made a noise of irritation. "I simply mean that  _none_  of us are the same, Kali. You are your  _own_  Jedi. You always have been. Maybe you're right," he added thoughtfully. "Maybe you do need to find your own path."

"Well, I don't have much of a choice now."

"By your own design," he replied. "I don't doubt that your intentions were pure, but for better or for worse, you've built your own ship, my friend. Now it's time to fly."

Kali shivered and looked out the window again, suddenly feeling very small. "Don't I know it."

Neither spoke as he angled the airspeeder down, making for a tunnel that ran between a clump of buildings. Traffic moved a bit quicker now. Inside the tunnel, the world seemed to shrink around them and Kali watched the lights streak by her window. When they emerged, Obi-Wan angled the airspeeder to yet a higher level of traffic, and they flew among the spacescrapers.

He glanced her way once more. "Perhaps it's best if we agree to disagree, in this instance."

"What does that mean?"

"It means," he placed a hand on her forearm and squeezed once, "that you're my dear friend, and despite everything else, I want you to be happy."

There was no way she could be cross with him after such an admission, and Kali felt tears stinging her eyes at his warmth, both in his touch and in his voice. She blinked rapidly and tried to keep her voice steady. "Thank you."

His hand lifted and he faced forward again. Kali, too, was silent a moment more, thinking over how best to phrase her next question, and, if she were honest, whether she truly wanted to know the answer.

At last she glanced his way, ensuring her voice was suitably calm. "Do you think the Council sent him away?"

"I have not been a feature of Council meetings of late," was Obi-Wan's dry reply, though his Force-presence ruffled with faint agitation.

"Ben."

He sighed and slanted her a regretful look. "I don't have an answer for you, Kali. I don't know what, if anything, the Council knew about Stonewall. What I do know is that I kept my promise to you; I did not reveal his Force-abilities with them, or anyone."

"I know you didn't," she replied quietly. "And I don't believe Mace or the others would have shipped him off to Kamino without even mentioning it to me. They'd at least be curious as to how he came to have access to the Force."

"Stonewall's sudden Force-sensitivity is an anomaly, to be sure. But you are correct; this is the sort of thing the Council would be  _quite_ interested in." Obi-Wan sighed again. "I don't know who else would have known. Someone you and your men met on a mission, perhaps?"

"Maybe." There were a few possibilities; Stonewall had always been careful with using the Force in front of others, but Kali had no way of knowing what, if anything, anyone else had observed.

After a few moments, Obi-Wan cleared his throat. "I'm going to say something. You have probably considered it, but I want to ensure it's been vocalized."

This did not bode well. Kali straightened in her seat and nodded for him to go on. Obi-Wan glanced at her abdomen. "I have no doubt that you will make every effort to recover your," he stumbled over the word, "husband, but if the worst should come to pass...you must face the possibility that you will have to raise the child without Stonewall."

"It won't come to that."

He sighed. "But if it does..."

She rested her palm against her stomach. "It won't. I won't let it."

His mouth tightened into a thin line, and his disapproval practically radiated off of him in the Force, but his words were so calm. "Very well. Assuming you rescue Stonewall and Milo, and everything you hope comes to pass...what are your plans? What sort of a future will you and your family have?"

There was Altis and Aruna; neither was more than a vague notion, but even that was better than nothing. "I've made arrangements."

She wondered if he'd ask for specifics, but he did not. Instead, he glanced her way again; she noticed they were slowly descending toward the ecumenopolis, though she couldn't pinpoint any landmarks. "I feel inclined to remind you that by taking these actions – by deliberately getting pregnant and married, not to mention everything that's happened in the last day – you have effectively stated your intent to defect from the Jedi Order."

It made sense when spelled out in this way, but the starkness of it all, laid out so plainly and without emotion, was akin to a punch in the gut. She didn't know why. She'd said as much to Honi earlier that day...why did Obi-Wan's words, truthful though they were, hurt like this?

"I'm a Jedi," she said quietly, looking down at her knees. "I've always been a Jedi. I don't want that to change. I just need to find another way."

He let out a long, weary breath. "If nothing else, I ask that you please be careful, Kali. Your efforts to find your own path may well lead you down the wrong one."

_And who will be the judge of right or wrong?_

They descended further still. Buildings now rose all around them, effectively cutting off her view of the sky. She recognized the section of Corrie that housed Taung Heights, and realized he was taking her...well, not  _home,_ but back where he'd found her. True to his word, always.

So she looked back his way. "Thank you. I think...I needed this."

He didn't ask what she meant, only inclined his head, though he frowned faintly at his next words. "You realize I cannot help you in any way other than offering my silence." At her lifted brow he elaborated. "I came to you today, not as 'Master Kenobi,' but as 'Ben.' As such, I cannot help you as 'Master Kenobi,' but only as your friend. I cannot assist you in your self-imposed mission in any way other than to keep silent on the matter and allow events to play out as they will."

Surprisingly, she smiled at this. "Then that will be enough. Though I can't deny I was hoping you'd have some Council-y way to restore my security clearance."

He chuckled. "I fear I'm in the same position as you, in that regard. Young Podger was quite confused by my 'deceased' status."

"Oh, no! Poor Podge!" she groaned, letting her head fall back to the seat. "Please,  _please_  promise me you'll return the speeder to him the moment we're done here. I don't want him to get a reprimand."

On some level, she knew she was being silly; a single reprimand wouldn't make much of a difference in the large scheme of Podger's life. But kriff it all...so many things were beyond her control. She refused to relinquish this matter to the chaos.

His words were solemn. "I promise, Kali, Podger will not receive a reprimand while I draw breath."

She bit back a laugh at his tone. "Thank you."

The airspeeder dropped through the final few layers of traffic before reaching the apartment building, where Obi-Wan halted the vehicle and turned to her. "Aside from saving Podger's reputation, is there anything I can do to help you?"

Of course he meant within the parameters they'd just established, though she was tempted to ask for a warship and a battalion of clones with which to storm Kamino, plus an official pardon for all the guys. But that was probably out of the question.

So she rested one hand on her abdomen and met his eyes. "Tell me it's going to be okay."

His reply was immediate. "It's going to be okay."

She wanted to believe him, she really did. But night time was coming and shadows would soon be everywhere. Kali shut her eyes against them and whispered, "Liar."

* * *

Next time: Back to Kamino.


	17. Chapter Sixteen

A/N: This chapter references events from:  _Old Wounds/Warning Signs_ , _All Or Nothing_ ,  _Warriors of Shadow, Born To Die,_  and  _Untouchable_. Again, they're not required reading, but you'll get more out of this story if you are familiar with them. :)

Lyrics:[ "Wonderwall," by Oasis, from  _(What's The Story) Morning Glory?_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6hzrDeceEKc&index=17&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp)

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen**

_And all the roads we have to walk are winding._

_And all the lights that lead us there are blinding._

_There are many things that I would like to say to you,_

_But I don't know how._

_Because maybe, you're gonna be the one that saves me._

_And after all, you're my wonderwall._

_Meanwhile..._

The first few moments of consciousness were, to Milo's way of thinking, something from a training manual.

Recovering From Non-Fatal Electrocution, Lesson One: Moving Is A Bad Idea.

Every time Milo tried it, he regretted it, but he couldn't  _not_ try and at least sit upright. Okay, turn his head. Okay...open his eyes.  _Ow...kriff..._

When he managed that small feat, at first he only saw darkness, then, as his eyes adjusted, he made out his brother's form lying beside him, washed in the watery light of The Dregs' cells. Stonewall's cheek was pressed to the floor, and judging by the pained lines of his face, he wasn't having any better of a time than Milo.

Milo took a deep breath, tried to ignore the tightness in his chest with the action, and twisted his head up to get a better sense of what was going on. Yes; they were back in the same cell. He recognized the neat bunks that he and Stonewall had made up before being taken to Creon. Zero's was sloppy.

Speaking of Zero...

A pair of boots walked over and came to a halt beside Milo's head. "Good morning, starshine."

"Kriff you," Milo tried to say, but his jaw didn't work and his tongue was heavy, so the words came out as "rrrfff ooo."

"You're right," Zero said in a genial voice. "It's closer to nighttime. By the way, you missed dinner."

Beside Milo, Stonewall let out his own wordless groan, but began to shift his arms in order to lift himself up. Encouraged by his  _vod's_ efforts, Milo found his own strength, and was able to push himself in a somewhat upright position.

Fek...everything hurt; it was a competition between his head and his chest to see which ached more, and each muscle felt like it'd been wrung out like a wet cloth. He was also cotton-mouthed and dazed, and hoped he hadn't suffered any brain damage from all the shocking. At that thought, Milo ran his hands over his torso to ensure the sticky-nodes weren't there, and breathed a – painful – sigh of relief when he realized they weren't.

Stonewall had sat up too, just as slowly, and he twisted his head around the cell. "Where's...did you see what happened to the other fellow?"

"Cobble," Milo put in.

Zero shrugged. "Nope."

Milo and Stonewall exchanged glances. Looking into his brother's eyes brought back a flood of bizarre memories and sensations, all relegated to the mental realm. Did he and Stonewall really...talk through the  _Force?_ Wincing, Milo rubbed at his forehead as if it would help clarify his foggy thoughts.

If his former captain sensed his confusion – well, it really wasn't much of a stretch to think Milo was confused – he made no indication of it. Instead, Stonewall looked up at Zero and held out his hand. "Little help?"

But the one-armed clone merely frowned at him and turned away. "Nah. Don't much feel like it."

 _What the heck is his problem?_  Milo thought with a frown.

" _Di'kut_ ," Stonewall muttered, though he looked back at Milo and gave a tight smile. "Let's help each other up."

It was one of the exercises all clones learned at an early age. They faced each other and spread out their feet, and using each other for leverage, they each gripped the other man's forearms and pulled, until both were standing. Milo's body screamed a protest at any movement, let alone one that required this kind of effort, but he didn't want to lie on the cell floor any longer.

Once they were both upright, they managed to stumble to the bunks; there was no way either clone was going to be able to climb to the top, so they simply collapsed beside one another on the lower bunk, backs against the wall, feet splayed out before them.

Stonewall exhaled deeply and looked at Milo. "Thirsty?"

His throat was parched; the idea of cool water sliding down to his stomach was most welcome, but he didn't know if he could make it all the way to the mini-conservator at the other end of the cell. "Yeah."

Nodding, Stonewall glanced over at Zero again. "Mind tossing us a water-bottle, at least?"

For a second, Milo thought the one-armed clone would ignore the request, but Zero complied, though the bottle smacked against Stonewall's shoulder with a little too much force. The former captain glowered, but ignored Zero as he twisted off the cap and handed the bottle to Milo, who guzzled its contents down eagerly. Sweet Force, it was the most delicious drink he'd ever had, and that included a new-found taste for Shasa ale that he'd discovered on Coraux. It was an effort to stop himself from emptying the bottle; once he'd drunk about half, he passed the rest to Stonewall, who took several eager swallows.

The water, coupled with being off the floor and relatively conscious, helped clear Milo's head a little more, so he was able to put his thoughts in order. Once Stonewall set the empty bottle aside, Milo regarded his former captain. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Stonewall said. "Well, I've been better. How about you?"

Milo shrugged and regretted it at once. "Same, I guess."

A disgusted sort of noise came from Zero's end of the cell. Milo glanced up to see the one-armed clone scowling at him and Stonewall. It took a lot more self-control than he wanted to admit to not return the look in kind.

"You're sure?" Stonewall asked, his eyes concerned as they flickered over Milo's face. "I know that shock hurt like hell."

 _Ugh. No kidding._  Milo nodded. "Yeah, I'm sure. It was pretty bad, but you know...it's over now. I just hope Cobble's okay, poor  _vod."_

Stonewall nodded. "Me too."

"Stop it!"

Both Milo and Stonewall grew still as the one-armed clone stalked over, his face lined with anger.

"Stop what?" Stonewall asked calmly.

"This." Zero gestured to both of them, sitting beside one another on the bunk, a shared bottle of water between them. "It's stupid and pointless, and I'm tired of listening to it."

Incredulous, Milo was only able to gawk at the other clone. "What the kriff are you on about? He's my  _vod_ –"

Zero made another sound of disgust and frustration, and his hand clenched into a fist at his side. "Stop with the 'vohd' thing; that's even more stupid. You're both idiots."

"Why?" Milo sat up, heedless of any discomfort as indignation coursed through him. "Because we care about each other?"

"Exactly," Zero sneered. "Is this how 'vohd' act? Weak and stupid?"

Stonewall tensed and Milo gritted his teeth, biting out his next words. "No, Zero. That's how  _men_ act."

Zero shot a dark glare between each of them, then stalked to the bunk opposite the one they rested on. In one fluid motion, he pulled himself to the top and laid down, back to the other clones.

Shaking his head, Stonewall looked back at Milo; his expression showed he was annoyed, but trying to push through the feeling. "May as well continue our debriefing. What's the last thing you remember?"

 _Good question._ Glad of something else to focus on, Milo tried to recall what he could of the the encounter in the training-room. His memories were foggy, but he distinctly recalled having what felt like a loudspeaker plugged into his head, with Stonewall's voice coming through, loud and clear as if he'd actually spoken. Along with words, however, was what Milo could only think of as waves of  _outside_ emotion washing over him. The weird talking-in-his-head thing had been frightening at first, but then he'd felt a sense of calm that didn't...come from himself, for lack of a better way to quantify it.

He'd  _felt_  rather than  _heard_  the trust, affection, and kinship in his brother's words. It'd balanced out the weirdness of the new sensation and given him the calm he'd needed to aim the blaster.

From there, of course, everything had gone to  _haran._

After a moment he shook his head a little. "Did you..." Hardly able to form the words, he tapped his temple.

Stonewall exhaled. His eyes lidded briefly before he nodded. "Yeah. Sorry about that. It was the only way I could think of to try and fight back."

"It was weird," Milo said, toying with a scuff of dirt on his fatigues. "But not..." He paused, searching for the right word. "Not bad," he said at last, meeting Stonewall's eyes. "I didn't know you could do that."

"Neither did I," Stonewall replied. "Not entirely, anyway. Kali and I spoke to one another like that for a long time before..." He trailed off and tapped the blinking collar around his neck.

"Actually, it was really useful," Milo added, sitting up as much as his aching muscles would allow. "I mean, think of what we could do if we didn't have to rely on comm systems to speak to one another, when we couldn't...you know, talk like this."

His pulse picked up as his mind turned over the possibilities. Shadow Squad had often been at the mercy of their electronics; not having that weakness would make them so much more effective...

Not that he'd ever see the others again. As quickly as it had come, the excitement faded and Milo leaned his head back against the wall. His bones felt like they'd turned to lead, and suddenly he was more tired than he'd ever been before.

Stonewall shifted beside him. "It was incredibly useful, when Kali and I could manage it. Definitely weird at first, though."

"Yeah." Milo took a careful, deep breath. "You don't think I'm...Force-sensitive, do you?"

At this, the former captain considered him a long, long moment. "I don't know," he answered at last. "I'm not really the best judge on the matter. I never sensed such a thing from you before. None of you guys. Kali never did either."

"Then how...?"

"I don't know," Stonewall said again, adding a small shake of his head.

Milo considered the matter. He knew less about Force-abilities than he knew about women, but after serving with a Jedi  _and_ a female, he was not totally ignorant of either. Even so, that limited knowledge was not enough to provide him with a satisfactory answer.

"Maybe it only works between  _vode,_ or anyone you care about," he said at last.

He could hear the half-smile in his brother's reply. "Maybe so."

They sat without speaking for a few minutes. Milo was tired, but didn't think sleep was going to come any time soon, and he still wasn't sure he could climb to the top bunk. After a little while, Milo glanced over at his  _vod,_ who was bathed in shadows. "I tried, Stonewall. I tried to shoot that aiwha-bait–"

"Mi–"

"But for those stupid sticky-things," Milo continued, blinking hard and tightening his hands into fists, ignoring the pain. "I could have had him, I know it."

"Milo." Stonewall shifted to place a hand on his shoulder. "You did the best you could. It was remarkable, really, given that your former captain had just given you an order...inside your head."

Despite himself, Milo chuckled. "What my old trainers in Tipoca City wouldn't have given to be able to do  _that._ "

"Right?" Stonewall squeezed once, and his voice turned distant. "Son or daughter, I hope my kid has half your mettle."

Milo's breath caught and he craned his head to look at his  _vod._ "Your...is the general...?"

Stonewall dropped his eyes, nodding once. "Kali's only about a month along at this point, but yes, Mi. She and I are going to have a child."

"Holy fekking hell," was all Milo could think to say. "You're going to be a dad? A  _buir?_ "

"Yeah."

Stunned, Milo drew his knees up to his chest, ignoring the ache, and rested his forehead on his folded elbows, because he was too tired to support his own weight. "Fek, Stonewall."

A heavy sigh beside him. "Yeah."

"What..." Milo bit the inside of his cheek, because he figured this question was not one that would be welcome. But he didn't know what else to say.

But in his way, Stonewall seemed to understand. "I don't know what I'm going to do. I think she has some crazy notion about coming to rescue us–"

"Probably not gonna work," Milo broke in. "She's never been here, has she? It's a really nice idea, but she doesn't know what Kamino's like."

"No, she doesn't." Stonewall's hands rested in his lap; after a moment, he clasped them tightly, as though he was trying to hold on to himself. "I think they're going to recondition me," he said after a moment. His voice was barely a whisper. "If they do..."

He didn't finish the thought. He didn't need to. A clone was the sum of his memories and experiences; without those bits and pieces, what was there? A chill swept through Milo, and he felt something hot prick at his eyes. Kriff; he hated crying, but he was so tired, and his body ached, and it. Wasn't. Fair.

His  _vod_ was a good man, and his general – Kalinda – was kind and compassionate, and if anyone in the galaxy deserved to have a happy family, it was the two of them. Milo blinked hard, at once furious and horribly sad, because even after everything he'd seen in The Dregs, only now did he truly understand what it was to be helpless.

No. He set his jaw and swiped at his eyes. No, he would not let Stonewall lose his memories, even if he had to fight off the long-necks, Ward and Halligan with his bare hands.

"I won't let them take you again without a fight," he said to Stonewall in Mando'a.

His brother gave him one of those sad smiles that had become so frequent here. The expression made his blood turn to ice, because it was one of acceptance. "I don't think fighting will make much of a difference."

"Still," Milo sat up, dropping his legs and meeting his brother's eyes. "I have to try. I can't let them... _erase_ your memories like that. It's not right!"

"I'll try to fight it, as best I can," Stonewall replied, still in Mando'a. "I have ways of...protecting myself with the Force."

"Even with the collar?"

Stonewall's fingertips slid to the leather and metal collar at his neck. "Yes. A little bit. Enough. I hope." He was silent a moment, then shot Milo a look that was pure  _captain_ and spoke in Basic once more _._ "It's time we tried to get some rest."

"I'm not tired," Milo said automatically.

Stonewall lifted a brow. "I can make it an order."

However, Milo crossed his arms before his chest –  _ow, fek_ – and raised his chin in defiance. "You said you weren't my captain any longer. That means I don't have to follow your orders."

Even as he said the words, he fought the urge to flinch. Disobeying an order – even joking about it – went against a lifetime of conditioning. Sure, life with Shadow Squad and General Halcyon had been unorthodox, but orders were orders, and the few times he'd gotten them directly, he'd followed them as best he could.

But everything was different now. He met Stonewall's eyes and noted the wry amusement in his former captain's gaze. "You're right, Mi. No orders, then," Stonewall said quietly, putting a hand on Milo's arm. "I'm asking you, as a brother, to please get some rest. You know we're both probably going to need it."

Given the play of events so far, that was a painful truth. "Copy that,  _vod,_ " he said, and made to get up, off the bunk. But his body protested and he sat back down with a hiss of pain, dearly wishing for Weave and his P for Plenty approach to painkillers.

"Uh...I don't think I can move," he added, looking at his  _vod._

Stonewall's mouth pulled into a half-smile. "Me either. Let's just stay where we are. For now, anyway."

"For now," Milo agreed.

* * *

_Later..._

Awake in the bunk he still shared with Milo, Stonewall looked into the shadows and remembered.

_"_ _It's easy, Stone," she said. "Just imagine a shield, like the one on a ship, but around your mind instead. Nothing can pass through."_

_He frowned, though he shut his eyes and tried to do as she instructed. But the image was slippery and he was uncertain, so it was difficult to focus. "Never got much pilot training," he tried to joke after a few, unsuccessful attempts. "This isn't working."_

_Kali nodded, her gaze distant even though they weren't even an arm's length apart, sitting face-to-face on the bed in their shared cabin on the_ Wayfarer _. After a moment, though, her dark eyes lit up and she scooted closer, a pleased look on her face._

_"_ _I'm so silly," she said, smiling at him. "The answer has been here all along."_

_"_ _What answer?"_

_She gave him a knowing look. "Your name."_

_Stonewall sighed. It'd been a long day and his head ached with all of this Force-nonsense. Yes, it was necessary to know how to shield his mind from an attack through the Force, but he was kriffing tired. "What about my name?"_

_Kali placed a hand over his heart, where her touch was warm and welcome."Stonewall. A stone_ wall _. Create one, around your mind, and nothing will touch you."_

 _Suddenly he wasn't as tired. He couldn't resist pressing his palm over her hand, covering it completely. "_ You're _touching me."_

_She rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean." They exchanged a smile before she sat up, dropping her hand to her lap and nodding at him to try again. "Go on. I know you can do it."_

A stone wall. He could imagine one of those well-enough. Funny, how the name he'd been given years ago by a dying brother was relevant in this way.  _Nothing can touch you,_ vod _,_ Drake had said, back on Geonosis; it wasn't true, of course, but it was a comforting idea, especially right now.

He shut his eyes and called up an image of a stone wall. Pretty basic stuff: gray stones of varying shapes and sizes, flecked with bits of brown and maybe some mica that would catch the light of the sun; between them, he imagined some kind of cement or lockslab holding the stones in place. The only way to breach this wall was a small aperture he imagined, a slot barely wide enough for his hand. How high should the wall be? He considered, then imagined it tall, well above his head, further than he could jump, even with the Force aiding his movements. In his mind, Stonewall rapped the bottom of his fist against the completed wall; it was secure and solid, and slightly warm as if from the sun.

Satisfied, he took a few deep breaths and dropped into true meditation. This next part was uncharted territory. The plan he'd formed was tenuous at best, but he did not have any other options. Creon was going to recondition him – that much he  _was_ certain of. When it happened, everything that made Stonewall who he was would be  _gone,_ so he would try and make some kind of provision, set up some sort of safekeeping for all the things that made him,  _him._

Another deep breath. He reached within and touched the well of energy and light that he'd come to associate with the Force. This was the first hurdle. The collar inhibited his Force-use, but it seemed to only do so when he attempted to perform some great feat, either to contact Kali or use the Force on someone else. It was a long shot, but he thought that maybe he could use the Force on himself, at least a little bit, without activating the shocking effect of the collar.

There was no pain, no shock. He was too focused on his goal to be relieved, only noted the fact in some distant corner of his brain.  _Inhale_. Stonewall sifted through his memories, searching for the most precious ones.

Coraux: curled up with Kali, sipping a cup of tea, the sweet taste of honey hitting the back of his tongue; leaning over her, heart pounding, as they created their child; sitting on the beach with Kali beneath the planet's glowing rings as they decided to start their lives together regardless of outside forces.

Aruna: kissing Kali, wrapping her in his arms while they were both coated in a rainbow of powder from the jubilant spring festival; kneeling beside Kali in a fragrant temple, their hands joined as they affirmed their love for one another; watching Kali walk away from him in the garden, after she'd just broken his heart. Even the bad memories were worth keeping, for they showed the scope of his life.

Japarran: waking up covered in a layer of white jessamin flowers, their scent heady in the air as he and Kali shared their first kiss; blaster-lessons beneath the heat of the sun; sitting beside her, before the fire that made her eyes glow.

Basrah: the way she'd remade his heartbeat with a touch of her hand; hearing her sing for the first time; seeing the first of many wry smiles as he insisted on carrying her bag when they met on some dingy freighter.

There were too many memories to count, let alone contain, but Stonewall did not let himself be frustrated. Instead, he inhaled and gathered up what felt like a handful of memories and mentally reached for the aperture in the wall he'd built in his mind. He exhaled, and began to push them through, one by one, securing them for safekeeping, until...

Well, until.

It had occurred to him that he would have no way to test if this worked; perhaps he was only fooling himself. To his knowledge, this was not something that had been attempted before, so quite possibly he was doing nothing. Either way, it didn't matter. He still had to try.

When the last of the memories fell from his grasp, he felt a ripple of confusion, for he wasn't quite sure what he'd been doing just now. A woman's voice wove through his mind, muted, like she was standing behind a wall. There; he could see it in his mind's eye, the mental wall he'd erected, with flecks of mica glittering faintly in the sunlight. He ran his hands along the solid face of it, and tried to remember...

Kali.

Stonewall concentrated, but couldn't call up much more than the name. He had a vague image of a dark-haired woman, one he knew he felt strongly about, but beyond that he wasn't sure. A sense of defeat permeated each thought; he knew he'd been trying to protect this  _Kali_ , and he knew he'd failed. Somehow.

Sighing, he opened his eyes and stared into the shadows of the bunk. Something warm stirred beside him; he glanced over and saw that Milo's eyes were open, and the younger clone was watching him. This face, at least, he knew, and it wasn't just because they were both clones. This was a member of his team, his brother. Shadow Squad remained a firm fixture in his mind, even though he couldn't  _quite_ recall how they'd all come to work together.

"Go back to sleep," he told his  _vod._

But Milo ignored his order. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," Stonewall said by route; it was always this way when he used the Force. How did he ever get the Force, anyway? Had General Kenobi passed it on to him, somehow? No...there was another Jedi. Dark hair, dark eyes...

He grimaced and rubbed his forehead as a few stray memories returned.  _Kali'ka._ His general and Jedi; the woman he loved. He was trying to protect both her and...something else. He wasn't sure what. Or whom.

" _Vod_." Milo interrupted his thoughts with a hand on his arm and softly spoken Mando'a. "I can tell you're up to something. What's going on?"

The wall in his mind was solid, save for an aperture in the side. "I'm...trying to save my memories," he said at last, slowly and in Mando'a. "It's hard to explain. I'm trying to...collect them away, in a secure sector of my mind, for safekeeping."

"Like...a kind of mental lock-down, but with the Force?"

"Something like that."

Milo was silent a moment. Then, "I want to help."

Stonewall sighed again. "I don't know that you can, Mi. It's not...I don't even really know what I'm doing. I can't even begin to explain it to you, and even if I could, I don't think you could do anything."

But his  _vod_ was stubborn and too optimistic for his own damn good. Milo sat up a bit and, though he gave a small wince of pain, his gaze on Stonewall was steady, even in the darkness of their cell. "I don't care. I want to try _._ Please, let me try to help you."

"I don't–"

"There has to be  _something_  I can do," Milo broke in. "Remember before, with Creon and Cobble? You...sent me, like, emotion or something. Can't you do that again, but with...I dunno...your memories?"

Stonewall rubbed his forehead again, trying to make sense of this. "Maybe...but what good would it do? If I get reconditioned, odds are I won't be able to find you to get all these memories...put back. And even if that did happen _,_ I don't know how we would even go about doing it."

Milo was silent for a few moments, then shook his head. "I don't know those answers. But I do know if we don't at least  _try_ , you'll lose...everything."

It was madness. Stonewall could barely use the Force, not like a true Jedi; sure, he could swing a lightsaber and jump around; sure, he could meditate and...somehow, speak to...others? One other... Kalinda. Yes, that was her name.

He shook his head once, trying to clear it, and brought his focus to the task at hand. He needed to safeguard Kalinda, and the rest of the memories that made up who he was. And that other thing...the one he thought he might've already shut away.

"Maybe," he said at last. "I have a lot of memories I want to keep safe."

"I think we all do," Milo replied. He scooted upright and sat cross-legged, facing Stonewall, who, after some hesitation, did the same. Milo popped his knuckles before he met his captain's eyes. "Okay, let's try...one memory. Do whatever you did before, back at the training-room."

Too perplexed to argue, Stonewall nodded, shut his eyes, and sifted through his memories for a relatively innocuous one, just in case. It took him a moment, then he selected one on Coraux, watching the bolo-ball scores with Kalinda. Memory in place, he reached for the Force again, wondering if the collar would allow him to touch Milo's mind.

Using the Force, he followed the same threads of kinship he'd followed before, and reached the bright glow of Milo's Force-presence. Much to his relief, the Force-suppressing collar did not activate. There  _was_  a faint feeling of resistance from Milo's direction, akin to an energy shield, but it faded almost immediately and Stonewall realized he had unrestrained access to Milo's mind.

"Okay," he murmured. "Here goes..."

 _Inhale_ ; he secured his hold on his own memory, reached forward and placed it carefully within the confines of his  _vod's_ mind.

 _Exhale_ ; he stepped back, mentally and through the Force, and pulled himself out of the trance.

When his eyes opened again, he realized he was looking into Milo's. The younger clone's mouth hung open in shock, his eyes were as round as dinner-plates, and he was blinking rapidly.

Stonewall cleared his throat. "Did it work? I can't...er, remember what it was, so I hope so."

Milo ducked his head and ran a hand through his regulation-short hair. "Holy kriff," he whispered, still blinking. "That...you...and her..."

 _Oh fek._  What sort of memory had he passed to Mi? Before Stonewall could be truly alarmed, Milo sniffed and looked up, and Stonewall was startled to see the younger man's eyes were wet.

"I didn't know it could be that way," Milo murmured.

"What could be what way?"

Milo inhaled deeply. " _Love_."

Stonewall didn't know what to say; it took him a minute to form a reply. "Kali and I love each other, Mi."

"Yeah, but..." Milo made a noise of frustration and shook his head. "I didn't know it could be that way. It was...kriff, Stonewall. It was...intense. Overwhelming. My head is still spinning. I never felt anything remotely like that in my life."

Stonewall had not counted on this. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you...we don't have to continue..."

But Milo was shaking his head again. "No way. I'm not letting you lose that feeling, at least not forever."

"Are you sure about this?" Stonewall asked. "That was just one memory. How many more could you take?"

Milo shrugged, and it was a testament to how distracted they both were that he didn't seem to feel any lingering pain from the earlier shocks. "I'll take as many memories as I can. Except..." A pained look crossed his face. "If they process me...no one will have them."

"If I'm reconditioned, my memories will be gone, regardless," Stonewall replied. "Crazy as this is, it might be the best option. If you're willing, that is."

Milo sat up straight, the top of his hair brushing against the bunk above them; beneath the sheltering awning of the bunk beds, it felt like they were in their own little world. "I want to help you,  _vod,_ " he said again in Mando'a. "But," his face colored and he glanced down at his folded legs, "maybe save the really private stuff for your own mental lock-down."

Despite himself, Stonewall managed to smile. "I was going to."

They each took a moment to get situated on the bunk. It probably wasn't necessary, but Stonewall thought it helped each man acclimate to the new arrangement. When he met Milo's eyes again, he tried not to think too hard about what he was doing, only  _why._

Since she remained so firmly in his mind, he focused on removing all traces of Kalinda first, though he was careful to only give Milo the more innocent memories. Her laugh, her smile, the light in her eyes when she looked at him fondly, or the way they narrowed in her ire. The smooth contours of her cheek and jaw, her strong hands and slender fingers, her gently sloping shoulders. Her preference for tea to caf. The sound of her snores. The almost-but-not-quite-confident way she held her lightsaber and pistol. The knotted scar on her knee.

After a few attempts, Stonewall realized he could easily switch back and forth between his own mind and Milo's, so he was able to shut away all of his memories behind those high walls he'd built. There, within his own mind, he carefully tucked away the less-innocent memories of his  _Kali'ka_ , the ones he'd never share with anyone.

Stonewall didn't know how long this took, only that as time passed, his actions became more route. One by one, he mentally gathered up his memories of Kalinda Halcyon, then reached through the thread of the Force that connected himself and his  _vod,_ passing them over to his brother for safekeeping. Though he figured it was impossible to collect them all, he hoped that without the more vivid ones, the rest would naturally fade to the back of his consciousness.

After a while, he went to gather more, and realized...there was only a faint glimmer of...something. Some aspect of the Force he could not quantify in any way other than a thread of energy that strung between him and...something else.

It took him a moment to recall the name  _General Halcyon._  A Jedi Knight and his commanding officer. Whatever he was doing was to protect her, even if only in his mind. Should the long-necks interrogate him about his Force-abilities, his Jedi, the most certain link, would be safe. It was his duty, not just as a clone, but also as her captain. He owed her that loyalty, even though he could not picture her face clearly, nor associate any sort of image or emotion with her name.

It was just a name.

"Stonewall." Blinking, he looked over at Milo, who watched him with no small amount of wariness. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Stonewall replied briskly. He noted the other man's informal use of his name, but he was tired and didn't feel like bringing it up. "You look...tired. Have you been sleeping?"

Milo's mouth opened but no sound came out. Finally he shook his head slowly, brow furrowed like he was working over his next words. "No, Stonewall. We've been...you've been giving me some of your memories. Through the Force. Because you think Creon's going to recondition you."

Right. He knew that. Stonewall frowned but resisted the urge to rub his forehead; he had to appear strong before his subordinate. No...not subordinate. Brother.  _Vod._

He met Milo's eyes again. "Are  _you_ okay?"

A distant, unfocused look came to Milo's eyes, and he nodded slowly. "Yeah. A little...full. It's strange, but not...not bad." He made a noise of frustration and shrugged. "Was there anything else you wanted to save?"

Stonewall considered the younger clone who sat before him, regarding him with an assurance that far exceeded his years. He'd not broken the link between them, so he was able to get a sense of Milo's emotions: calm, determined, ready. A good man, a good brother. Stonewall ducked his head and thought of his other brothers: Crest, Weave, and Traxis. He'd tried not to think of them too often over the last day or so, but he knew each of them well enough to know they were probably worried for him and Milo.

If he was reconditioned, he would lose all sense of kinship with those men, and the one who sat before him. He could not let that happen. Stonewall nodded and laced his hands together. Yes, there was something else he needed to save.

"Shadow Squad," he said, meeting Milo's eyes.

* * *

It went quicker this time.

By now, Milo had found a way to acclimate to the influx of new memories. It was, more or less, a matter of fitting them into the ones he already had, though a lot of the ones of Kali – he could not think of her in any other way now – were unlike any he possessed. They weren't lewd or private; they were memories he could relate to anyone else without embarrassment, but they were...different, and there was an intensity to them he'd not anticipated.

If there had ever been a doubt in his mind that Stonewall loved the dark-haired woman, there wasn't one now. In the restful moments between memory-transfers, he wondered if he'd ever know that kind of love, firsthand.

Stonewall's memories of Shadow Squad were different. Many of them overlapped with Milo's own, though certainly not all, and it was easier to fit them alongside the ones he already held. In a way, it was sort of like watching a holovid, though Milo felt the captain's emotions and impressions as if they were his own. He smiled at the memories of Florrum – invisible droids were stellar, in any memory – and grimaced at Aruna, where Stonewall sought out his brothers in a time of personal crisis.

There were other memories, too, ones Milo thought had happened before Shadow Squad; he saw the sands of Geonosis and a brother named  _Drake._ He saw the dirt-red canyons of Teyr and was touched to see himself, through Stonewall's eyes. Kriff, he'd looked young and scared, back then.

Teyr appeared again, but only Stonewall and Traxis were present. Here, there was a brief pause while Stonewall shuttered away some private memory, but before Milo could wonder, the deluge continued, faster than before. He thought they were both getting more proficient at this memory-sharing thing. Strange, how easy it was to adapt.

The memories rolled though Milo's mind, faster and faster, until he sort of mentally sat back and soaked them up, watching and  _experiencing_ from a distance while Stonewall unloaded the sum of his whole self. It was intimate, but not romantic. Milo did not understand a lot of the emotions or associations Stonewall made with each memory; he was simply keeping them safe. Just in case.

He had no idea how long the transfer lasted. Though the bulk of Milo's focus was on allowing the foreign memories to filter into his mind, he found he was able to keep a small portion of his attention on their surroundings. Stonewall was doing most of the work, anyway. Only when Milo heard Zero stirring did he realize any time had passed, but it was not until he caught the distinctive tread of clone boots on the floor outside the cell did he understand it was morning already.

But this realization, too, was distant.

The footsteps grew closer. A hissing sound...rather like the energy-shield to their cell being dropped. Milo was caught in a memory of Coruscant, of losing a sabacc game, when someone grabbed his shoulder, snapping him out of his trance and cutting the link he'd found with his  _vod._

For an instant, Milo didn't know where he was."What the...?"

"Move it, dreg," Ward hissed, shoving him roughly aside, sending him toppling to the floor. "Scientist Dai wants to see your precious captain."

Milo groaned. He tried to sit up, but he was stunned and dizzy from the sudden absence of Stonewall's presence in his mind, and could do nothing more than lie still as Ward and Halligan wrestled a set of cuffs on Stonewall, who fought back this time.

If the sudden absence of the link was disorienting for Milo, it must have been worse for Stonewall. He swore and shoved against Ward's armored chest – with the Force. The energy sent the guard stumbling back, then the collar around Stonewall's neck lit up with angry red lights, and Milo's former captain cried out as the electric pulse through his body shoved him to his knees. Ward and Halligan, each wielding an electro-staff, shoved them at the former captain as well, and the resulting crackle and scent of burning skin made Milo's stomach twist.

"Stop..." he croaked, but his voice wouldn't work. "Please...leave him alone..."

A boot kicked his stomach. Hard. Pain rolled through him from the point of contact, and Milo curled in on himself, still reeling from the loss of his brother. A clone's voice shouted at him, _shut up, we're just following orders_. There were more sounds of electricity and swears from another clone, and then the cell was silent.

Milo sucked in a breath and forced himself to look up. He did so just in time to see Stonewall, his brother, dragged from the room by Ward and Halligan; his face was slack, his eyes closed, and he was still. The energy-shield closed behind them, and through the waving, rippling light, Milo watched his brother be carried away, maybe for the last time.

His head was full and his heart felt like it was going to burst. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. Milo didn't know what else he could do but duck his head and weep.

* * *

A/N: Whew. That was an intense chapter to write, as much for the emotive impact as for the complex, technical aspects. Please let me know if something didn't make sense.

The concept of memory transference may feel like a stretch, but considering the Force can be "stolen" from someone, (see the Season Six eps with Jar Jar & Mace), I think I'm within my rights to say it can be used for sharing/giving memories. Such a thing could be akin to a mind-trick, after all.

If you're familiar with my fic,  _Sacrifice_ , Stonewall does something similar to his memories with regards to the "wall" imagery. It's what gave me the idea here.

Next time: Leaving Coruscant. I promise this all lines up more or less chronologically!


	18. Chapter Seventeen

Lyrics:[ "I And Love And You," by The Avett Brothers, from same.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mrsgIEBwIZM&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp&index=18)

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen**

_One foot in and one foot back,_ _**  
** _ _But it don't pay to live like that._ _**  
** _ _So I cut the ties and I jumped the tracks,_ _**  
** _ _For never to return._

Early the next morning after Master Kenobi's mysterious return – and her Master's mysterious absences – Zara Karell awoke in the quarters she shared with Master Tallis. At first she thought she was alone, but a soft noise from the direction of her Master's room alerted her to the fact that the red-haired Human was present.

Rubbing her eyes, Zara glanced at the display of her chrono, resting by her bed, and frowned at the time. It was too early even for morning meditation, and she knew Master Tallis wasn't scheduled for duty at the Halls of Healing until this evening. So what in the stars was she doing awake? For that matter, when had she gotten back last night?

Master Tallis had been on edge ever since that talk with Master Windu, about Master Halcyon's defection. Even without her ability to sense pheromones, Zara knew her Master well enough to realize she was distracted by something, and it was likely something relating to Kalinda Halcyon. And all those "errands" she'd been on? Very strange. Jedi Knights generally didn't go on "errands." It wasn't like they had to run to the market for blue milk, like actors always did in holos.

Zara yawned, but by now she was mostly awake. After taking a long drink of the water she kept by her bed, she tugged on her brown robe and padded to the door to her room, then slipped through the little common area to Master Tallis' room, intent on sating her curiosity.

"Master Tallis?" she said, leaning her  _lekku_ near the door. "Are you okay?"

There was a pause, then she heard her Master's voice. "I'm fine, Zara. Go back to sleep."

Well, she would have liked nothing better, but she was awake now whether she wanted to be or not. "Um...I'm not really tired. Do you need any help?"

The door slid open, nearly making her fall forward. Honi Tallis stood on the other side, hair mussed, eyes a little wide, and mouth drawn into a tight line. There were dark circles under her eyes, like she hadn't slept in a month, and agitation eddied around the core of her, normally still and calm as a pool of deep water. She had a datapad tucked in her arm.

"I need you," Master Tallis bit out the words, "to go back to your room."

Zara managed to peek around her Master's slender shoulder, and caught sight of a rucksack on her bed, stuffed with clothing and medical supplies.

Suddenly the "errands" made a lot more sense.

Zara's stomach twisted as she looked back at her Master. She couldn't stop herself from blurting out the question. "Are you...leaving?"

The agitation spiked. Master Tallis exhaled sharply, and seemed to speak through gritted teeth. "For a little while. I have a...special assignment that will take me away from the Temple. I'll leave instructions for you on your datapad."

At the mention of the piece of tech, Zara's eyes flickered to her Master's 'pad, where she caught – of all things – a hangar location at the Eastport Docking Facility.  _Weird_.

But not as weird as her master  _leaving_ like this, totally unannounced, and maybe even without permission. Of course, her Master could very well be on a super-secret mission for the Council, one that she couldn't share knowledge of with her Padawan. But given Master Tallis' flustered state, Zara didn't think she was acting with an official sanction.

Which meant...

Surely not. The idea of Honi Tallis...going rogue or whatever, was completely crazy. No, there must be some other reason for her Master's emotions. The Republic was at war, which meant that Jedi were called away, on short notice, all the time. Surely that's what was happening here.

Even so, it was an effort for Zara to keep her voice from betraying her own apprehension. "Can't I come, too?"

Master Tallis' jaw tightened. "No."

"Please?" Zara met her Master's gaze. "You might need my help. Besides...aren't I supposed to stay with you?"

The red-haired Human woman shook her head. "Not this time. Go to bed, Zara."

"But I really think I should–"

"Go. To. Bed."

"But–"

" _Now._ " This was said with a pale finger pointed toward Zara's room, and a dark ripple in the Force that signified Master Tallis was in no mood to argue.

Blinking back the welling heat in her eyes, Zara turned and marched toward her room, mimicking the precise steps of the clone troopers she'd seen parading around the Coruscant barracks. It was something she'd done in jest, when she felt Master Tallis was being too strict, but when she stretched out her senses to her Master, there was no response. She turned and realized the door to her Master's room was closed again, and a further inquiry with the Force revealed a deep-seated apprehension from the Human woman, centered on...

Zara wasn't skilled enough to pinpoint the source of the feeling, but the emotion itself bothered her. Her Master was supposed to be untouchable; how bad was this mysterious situation that it'd broken through Honi Tallis' cool?

Once she reached her own room, she thought to the datapad tucked under her Master's arm. Surely the mention of the Eastport Docking Facility was a clue of a sort. She shut her eyes and tried to call up a mental image of the 'pad, as she'd done on many memory exercises as a youngling. After a few moments of concentration, she saw the words in her mind's-eye:

_Eastport Docking Facility_

_Section 75, Bay 67_

The hiss of an opening door made Zara's eyes open, and she knew without even using the Force that her Master had left. Already, their small apartment felt empty. A little yellow light at the top of her personal datapad began to blink, indicating she'd gotten a new message – probably the "instructions" Master Tallis had promised.

Zara ignored them and laid back in her bed. It was probably wise to do as she'd been told; stay at the Temple like a good Padawan, and await her Master's return. Master Tallis was smart and capable, and Zara knew she could handle whatever the mission threw her way. Besides, she hadn't even said goodbye. Obviously, she didn't want anything to do with her Padawan.

But she'd been scared. There was no denying the fear that Zara had sensed. Though they'd not been working together all that long, Zara didn't know that she'd ever sensed such a thing from cool, calm Honi Tallis.

What if she  _couldn't_ handle this "assignment" on her own? Didn't Master Yoda say that a Jedi should never grow too complacent?

Zara sat up in bed and looked around for her own rucksack. She spotted it, buried beneath a pile of dirty clothes.

 _A Padawan's place is with her Master,_  she thought as she called the pack to her hands and began to tug on her boots.  _Even when said Master doesn't realize – or like it._

* * *

_A little later..._

Few civvies were up and about this early, which made Traxis and his brothers' task a tiny bit easier. Thanks to Weave's mods to their kits, they were able to bring the supplies taken from the  _Wayfarer_ to the Eastport Docking Facility without any difficulty; apparently, clone troopers were a common sight, even here.

The gravsled trundled silently down the rows of ships and empty bays. Section 75 was apparently one of the less-used areas of the EDF, and the entire area was a sea of drab, gray, durasteel and permacrete. Weave stood at the sled's helm, steering the small vessel while Traxis kept one eye out for trouble and another out for the coral-skinned Twi'lek, though he wondered if the two weren't mutually exclusive. Crest was supposed to be doing surveillance, too, but as usual, Baldy seemed more interested in gossiping.

"Can you believe Tallis this morning? Showing back up like that, all set on coming along to Kamino with us. I haven't seen Kalinda so steamed in a long time."

At least he kept the gossip relegated to the private comm-channel between the clones. Traxis tried to ignore the chatter, but Weave seemed interested, especially once Tallis' name was mentioned.

"She wasn't pleased," Weave agreed.

Crest snorted over the comms, loud enough to make Traxis wince. "You can kriffing say that again. Though it was pretty funny to hear someone else get chewed out for once."

Traxis ignored the both of them, and watched the numbers on each hangar bay they passed.  _60...61...62..._

"But you know," Weave continued, "it might not be a bad thing to have two Jedi with us when we reach Kamino. You saw how well Tallis bluffed her way around those guards back at the  _Wayfarer."_

"Yeah, that was pretty stellar." Crest considered a moment. "The boss is good at that kind of thing, too. I guess I do feel better having another Force-user on board."

"It can't hurt," Weave said.

 _63...64...65..._  There was music drifting from somewhere up ahead. The bright, upbeat sound didn't quite belong; at the very least, it was a startling contrast to the uniformity of the rest of the section.

Traxis caught sight of the large, oblong transport before they actually reached it. Ships weren't his area of expertise, but this one reminded him of some of the Corellian designed vessels he'd come across during his time with Shadow Squad. It was squat and bulky, not at all fitting the image he'd conjured in his head when he'd thought about what sort of a ship Ares Tabora would have.

Not that he'd  _thought_  about the Twi'lek since they'd parted ways in the alley yesterday.

The ship's hull was painted a burnished bronze, and aside from a few scrapes and dings, appeared to be in good shape. Other than a serial number, the only ornamentation was a black bird of some kind painted at the aft section; its wings were stretched in front of its head, as if it was about to plummet forward. The stylized image was not realistic, but it was vivid, and gave the illusion of forward momentum.

As they drew closer, Traxis nodded approval at the sight of twin turrets at the ship's sides, where its "ears" would be had it been similar in shape to a Human head. The helm was at its nose, tucked beneath an overhanging lip of the upper deck, and Traxis got the overall impression that had he been looking at the ship from above, it would have vaguely resembled a clone trooper's bucket. A good sign.

Weave gave a low whistle over their comms. "Nice. I think that's a Maka-Eekai. I've heard those ships are supposed to be ideal for carrying passengers."

"Good for us, I guess," Crest replied. "Hey, it's got turrets, too. Trax, did you see the turrets?"

Traxis opened his mouth to answer, but then he caught sight of a familiar figure standing on top of the ship, hunched over an open panel. The closer the clones got, the louder the music became, until the gravsled halted before Bay 67 and Traxis realized the music was emanating from the ship itself. It was loud – naturally, to have carried so far – and...exuberant. He couldn't identify the language the singer was using, but the drum and bass rhythm was actually kind of catchy.

It was also effing loud enough to wake the dead on Teth.

Ares paused in his work to glance down at the gravsled; from here, Trax could make out a faint frown on the other male's face, perhaps at the sight of all their gear.

"Traxis?" Crest rapped against his bucket, effectively snapping him out of his trance. "Helloooo? You there,  _boyo_?"

 _Mind on the fekking mission, asshole,_ he cursed himself. "Don't fekking do that," he said, knocking Crest's hand away before he hopped off the sled and began to unload the crates; they weren't terribly heavy, and they'd decided ahead of time not to bring a gravsled emblazoned with the sigil of the Jedi Temple aboard the bounty hunter's ship. One never knew who might be watching.

Weave and Crest followed his lead with the crates. As the clones worked, Ares walked to the edge of the ship, eying the crates with a raised brow. "Just some of our gear," Traxis called out before the bounty hunter could comment. "Nothing to worry about."

" _Some_ of your gear?"

"Yeah, we're not used to packing light," Crest replied with an easy chuckle that somehow managed to carry over the din. "But in our defense, you should see what we left behind."

Wiping his hands on a rag, Tabora looked between the clones, his head tilting in a way that suggested he was trying to suss them out. Traxis considered identifying himself, but decided against it for now. "Where the fek can we stow all this?"

"Cargo bay, center deck," Ares called over the music. "I'll help you as soon as I finish here."

Crest and Weave nodded and began to carry the first crate up the loading ramp, but Traxis stayed behind. He watched the Twi'lek use the toe of his boot to shut the hatch on the ship's back, then kneel to collect his tools.

The question left Trax's mouth before he could stop it. "It's going to make it to Kamino, right?"

Ares tilted his head. "What?"

Fek, the music was loud. Traxis gritted his teeth and blinked into his HUD to raise the volume of his external mic, and repeated his question.

"Wait one moment, please." Tucking the dirty rag in his belt, Ares withdrew a small datapad from his jacket and entered a code; the decibel level of the hangar dropped considerably. Satisfied, the Twi'lek glanced back at Traxis. "You were saying?"

For kriff's sake, he  _hated_  repeating himself. "Will this fragging hunk of  _osik_ actually  _reach_ Kamino?"

The bounty hunter's eyes narrowed. "I assume by 'oss-eek,' you are referring to the  _Stark Raven_?"

Beneath the shelter of his bucket, Traxis could roll his eyes as hard as he wanted, with no one the wiser. "It's pronounced 'oz-ick.' And yes."

In a few, fluid motions that belied his civilian status, Ares hopped down the ship's sides, coming to land a few paces away from the clone, who frowned. The  _shabuir_  was going to break his kriffing neck pulling stunts like that. Ares seemed unconcerned, though, as he ran a gloved hand across the ship's hull, a look of utter devotion in his eyes.

"Never doubt the  _Raven_ , my friend," Ares said without looking at him. "She will never let you down. And do  _not_ ," he cast a warning glare at the clone, "disparage my ship again. Not when you are placing your life – and the lives of those you care about – in her figurative hands."

With that, the Twi'lek turned to make his way into the ship.

 _Di'kut_ , Traxis thought, purposefully ignoring the fact that he'd often felt the same way about his collection of weaponry. "Tabora," he called. "Wait a second."

Ares paused halfway up the ramp.

"There's been a...slight change in plans," Traxis said.

This made the bounty hunter's eyes narrow, and Trax was close enough now to see the accompanying twitch in both  _lekku._ "Oh?"

"Nothing to get all twisted up about," Traxis said, rolling his eyes again. "Kali should be here in a few minutes; she sent us ahead to load up, and let you know there's going to be another Jedi with us."

" _Another_  Jedi?" Ares gave a weary chuckle and rubbed his forehead, his hand absently tracing along his left  _lek_  before he crossed his arms. "Will this one be paying his or her own passage in the same way as your Kalinda?"

Heat flooded Trax's body as he clenched his hands into fists at his sides. "Don't try that  _osik_  with me," he growled. "I know you got a sweet load of fekking creds for those sabers. Should be more than effing enough to cover another karking Jedi."

_Fek, am I actually defending Tallis?_

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Crest and Weave exit the ship and make for another of the larger crates on the sled. Neither said a word to him; though he knew he should help them, he was too furious to do more than glower at the bounty hunter and all his  _fragging_ nerve.

Tabora's left  _lek_ twitched again, but his reply was calm, if slightly amused. "It was a joke, Traxis."

He turned away again, but Traxis stood frozen for a beat before he pulled off his bucket and cast a wary look at the other male. "Wait...how the fek did you know it was me?"

Tabora paused at the loading ramp and gave him a crooked smile. "Perhaps I should say it was an, ah, trade secret, but the truth is that your excessive swearing gave you away."

Traxis grabbed one of the smaller crates that could be carried by one man, and followed the bounty hunter into the belly of the ship. "It's not kriffing excessive," he muttered.

Ares laughed outright at this, but did not reply.

* * *

_A few minutes later..._

"It looks..."

Honi cast her eyes to the hangar's ceiling as her former Master searched for a suitable word to describe the vessel before them. Never mind; she had a few of her own. "Decrepit? Shoddy?Unprofessional?"

Kalinda smiled. "Unique. I like the raven on the side."

"Of course you do," Honi muttered, hefting her pack and following the dark-haired woman toward the ship. The gravsled she'd borrowed from the Temple had been emptied, and one of the armored clones was carefully pushing it toward the hangar bay's edge; with any luck, it'd be returned to the Temple by the maintenance workers at the docking facility.

"If you don't like the ship," Kalinda said brightly as they walked, "you don't have to come. Matter-of-fact, I really,  _really_  wish you wouldn't."

Honi huffed. "We've been over this."

And then some. She'd known she would cause a stir when she arrived back at the Taung Heights apartment this morning, but her mind was set. Letting her friend and former Master embark on this likely ill-fated mission, while pregnant and in emotional turmoil, was...

Well, it was  _wrong._

Not for the first time, Honi and Kalinda were not in agreement on a particular matter, but Honi refused to be dissuaded from this decision. Which Kalinda had been trying to do for the past hour.

"When the Council finds out, you'll be in a kriff-load of trouble," Kalinda said.

"You're one to talk."

Kalinda grimaced. "What did you say when you left?"

Honi considered, then shrugged. "Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Well," Honi amended, "Zara believes I'm on an emergency errand."

"And the other Healers?"

This reality tugged on Honi's conscience. She did not like the idea of abandoning her Temple duties for any reason. Even though she did not have any patients in critical condition – she'd taken the last one out of morichro-stasis yesterday – it did not sit well with her to leave without a word. But it was either that, or abandon her former Master, and only friend, to her fate.

Not much of a choice, but then, no one ever said being a Jedi was easy.

So Honi exhaled sharply, eager to move the conversation along. "You and I both know that I've never set one toe out of line before; surely the worse the Council could do to me is give a reprimand."

Kalinda's reply was unusually grave. "I hope you're right."

After depositing the gravsled, the clone gave them a wave; a mild brush with the Force told Honi it was the chatty, bald fellow – Crest, she thought. As the Jedi drew closer, he thumbed toward the ship. "We're loaded up and raring to go. Our Twi'lek tour-guide says the ship is prepped."

"Thanks, Crest," Kalinda said, then she shot another glance at Honi. "And you're really fine with abandoning your poor Padawan?"

Zara had been another sticking point. The worst part was that Honi was not entirely comfortable lying to the girl, nor leaving Zara behind, but she was unwilling to risk Zara's own career – not to mention safety – for a self-appointed mission of this nature. As she'd done all morning, she resisted the urge to touch the girl's Force-presence; better that Zara remain at the Temple, happily ignorant of her Master's foolish emotional ties.

"Matters between myself and my Padawan are not your concern," Honi said coolly as they followed the clone into the ship.

She caught a flare of annoyance from the other woman, but Kalinda let the matter slide.

Once they were inside, they were met with all three clones, plus a rather unsavory-looking Twi'lek who stood by the hatch's controls. "All here?" the Twi'lek asked Kalinda. "No more surprise passengers?"

"No more," Kalinda replied easily. "I apologize for the last-minute changes, Ares. Thank you for being so accommodating."

Tabora gave a slight bow. "Courtesy is always free of charge."

Traxis, the clone with the scars that ribboned down the left side of his face, scowled, but Ares Tabora didn't seem to notice as he activated the hatch controls. Hydraulics hissed as the hatch began to close, sealing shut a few moments later.

The Twi'lek indicated a lift tube at the end of the cargo bay, which was surprisingly empty, containing only a few crates of supplies. "Shall we get underway?"

Kalinda took a deep breath, and only because she was close at hand did Honi realize her former Master was trembling. That, more than anything else, assured Honi she'd made the right choice in coming.

"Yes," Kalinda said quietly. "Let's move out."

* * *

A/N: So, I kind of mentioned before that one of the great things about this story has been getting a chance to flesh out my "fanon," (is that the right word? It feels...weird), a bit more. Ares and his ship are two components that have gotten this treatment. It's been really cool to revisit some of these elements in a new, and imo better, light. :)

In other news, Real Life has taken a wild - but not unexpected - turn, and the next month or so is going to be crazy for me. It's "good" crazy, (as in, the end result will be good), but in the interim, time and energy will be in short supply. I really  **don't** want to put  _Fearless_  on a posting hiatus, but I might have to. :/ I'll try to keep it going for now, but consider yourself forewarned. Additionally, I will probably definitely fall behind on my own reading & reviewing, and for that, I apologize. Thank you for bearing with me.

Next time: En route to Kamino.


	19. Chapter Eighteen

Lyrics:[ "Follow Into Shadow," by John Brown's Body, from Amplify.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7PYdrlBrr50)

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen**

_I will live on any meal that's left me._

_I will go down any road you send me._

_I won't need no army to defend me._

_I will leave you spiraling, descending._

Not until Ares slid into the pilot's chair, well-worn and molded to the curve of his back, was he truly home.

Though he still felt some agitation over the extra Jedi passenger, not to mention his conversation with Cad Bane the previous day, the galaxy always looked a lot more manageable from the helm of his beloved ship.

He'd gotten an early start this morning. The  _Raven_ was fueled and ready to go. A few flipped switches, a few tweaked dials, and the sublights and thrusters were activated, causing the ship to tremble as if with anticipation of the flight. The engines hummed pleasantly, blending in with the harmonies of the Nautolan drum and bass melodies Ares was partial to at the moment.

Ares entered in the code that would signal the EDF's control tower that he was awaiting clearance to leave. The "stand by" message came a moment later, with a countdown of a few minutes; once he had clearance, the hangar wall would slide open, allowing him to navigate the ship directly out of the hangar and make for the line of vessels waiting to jump to hyperspace.

He glanced over his shoulder, toward the turret controls and sensor arrays, where his three clone passengers stood. Once his clients' supplies had been safely stowed, both Jedi had opted to make use of the passenger lounge where Ares had directed them. He assumed they had Force-business or something similar to attend to, and was content to leave the Human women to their devices.

Apparently, the clones had felt similarly, though Ares rather wished it were otherwise. On "the same side of the law" or not, it was still unsettling to have the blank T-visors occasionally fixed upon him, though none of the men were armed. That he could see, at any rate. No telling what was beneath all that white plastoid.

Traxis, for example...

The scarred clone had not replaced his helmet, and his eyes were trained upon Ares, indicating in no uncertain terms that the fellow didn't trust the bounty hunter in the least. It was a pity, really, as he was a fine specimen of his species; all hard lines and muscle, with eyes of a curiously alluring pale brown. In another context, Ares would have wanted to get to know him a bit better.

 _But he is not a free man,_ Ares reminded himself darkly. After his and Traxis' volatile conversation the day before, Ares had done a bit of research on the clone army, of which he realized he was painfully ignorant. What he'd learned had turned his stomach.

No citizenship. No rights. Kriff, the fellows were not even given names; he suspected what names they had were self-appointed. All the clones he'd found referenced in the HNN were simply referred to by designations: CT-7567, CC-2224, CC-3636, and the like.

At this very moment, there were millions of men with Traxis' face fighting and dying in the service of the Republic, and after a few hours of research, Ares had started to understand that most of those men would never know anything more. They wouldn't get the chance. It seemed the GAR was intent on throwing bodies at each problem as it cropped up. When Ryloth had been in crisis, he'd watched the coverage, but Ares had never paused to think about the men in white armor, many of whom had made their graves on his homeworld.

An oversight on his part. One he regretted a great deal.

He glanced at Traxis again, ensuring that the gesture was subtle. Nevertheless, he was met with a fierce glare, made more so by the network of scarring that fell across the left side of the clone's handsome face. How many more scars did Traxis bear? Did he truly consider himself a "means to an end," a "tool" for the Republic to use and discard at will?

From what Ares had learned, that was indeed how the clone army was viewed by the public at large. Tools. Living weapons. Flesh-droids.

It was slavery, pure and simple. Bile rose up in his throat and Ares turned his gaze away, suddenly too angry to think straight.

To calm down, he took a few deep breaths and looked over the  _Raven's_ gauges once more, ensuring that the modifications he'd made to the alluvial dampers this morning were still satisfactory. Behind him, he could hear the shifting of booted feet as the other two clones, Crest and Weave, they'd been named, seemed more interested in examining the cockpit, though their glances occasionally slid to the Twi'lek at the helm.

"You can control everything from here?" one of the clones asked. "Even the guns?"

Ares nodded as he turned the music down. "The turret bays have manual controls, of course, but the  _Raven_ is meant to be operated by a single pilot. It is helpful to have someone at the guns in the event of a firefight, but I can do it all in a pinch if I'm alone."

"Pretty sweet," the other clone said, nudging Trax's armored side. "Right, Trax? Aren't the turrets sweet?"

The scarred clone rolled his eyes. "Eff off, Crest."

Chuckling, Crest thumbed in Trax's direction. "Don't mind him. He's a habitual curmudgeon."

"I'll  _curmudgeon_  you, Baldy, if you don't shut your effing mouth."

Following this, Traxis switched to another language, one Ares actually  _didn't_ know, though he recognized a few words he thought were more swears. He bit back a chuckle at the man's indignant tone, though the dark growl of Trax's voice sent a shiver across both  _lekku._ Ares had no idea what accent the clones had, but he rather liked it, at least on Traxis.

During his research last night, Ares had wondered how he'd be able to distinguish his clone passengers from one another, but as it happened, it was an easy enough task. Aside from the prolific swearing, Trax's voice was lower and rougher than the other two, and he often seemed to bite off his words. Crest's voice lilted and generally held a more upbeat tempo; Weave's was consummately calm and orderly.

When Trax finished speaking, Crest lifted his hands as if in supplication. "Alright, alright. Kriff...keep your hair on,  _vod."_

" _Both_  of you calm down," Weave said with a sigh.

Ares cleared his throat. "We'll receive clearance to leave in a few minutes. I recommend being seated until we're in hyperspace." He paused, then looked back at the control console. "The  _Raven_ is actually quite roomy. I can give you a proper tour a bit later; in the meantime, though, there is a rather nice window in the dining area on the upper deck."

It wasn't a request for them to leave, not really, but he was unused to the company of others. Though the ship was designed for living cargo, it'd been a long time since he'd carried passengers as...chatty as this. One of the reasons he'd purchased a ship as large as the  _Raven_  was so it could be his home among the stars, and Ares found himself a bit unsettled at the notion that he'd so easily allowed four – no,  _five_ – strangers in his home. Kriff, he could have used a cigarra right now; the base of both  _lekku_ itched something fierce.

Weave seemed to take the hint, and he and Crest made for the door. "We'll take a look, thanks."

Traxis, however, remained where he stood. The "all clear" signal came through, so Ares reached for the thruster controls to ease the  _Raven_ up, though he glanced back at the scarred clone. "If you're going to remain here, you would be wise to take a seat and, ah, strap in."

"I'll manage."

Ares sighed. "Suit yourself."

One gentle flex of his wrist and the  _Stark_   _Raven_  lifted up, up, up. It always thrilled Ares, just a bit, to know he could maneuver his beloved ship with the subtlest of gestures. The hull shivered a little as if the  _Raven,_ too, was anxious to be away, but Ares held her steady.

Until, that is, they cleared the hangar and slipped into the open air. Traxis still stood behind him, glaring, so Ares decided to have a little fun, as well as get his point across. Only a flick of his finger was needed against the stabilizer controls, and the  _Raven_ tilted sharply to one side. It was not enough to cause any damage – provided one was seated and strapped in, as the pilot had so politely suggested. Traxis, being neither seated nor buckled, promptly careened into the bulkhead, swearing profusely as plastoid met durasteel.

"What the frag was that?"

"A little atmospheric turbulence," Ares said as he readjusted the vessel. "My apologies. Perhaps you should join your companions."

He risked a glance at the scarred clone, who gave him a dark glare before slapping his hand on the door panel and stalking out of the cockpit. Once the door closed behind him, Ares exhaled in relief, and turned his attention back to the helm.

There were many ways off Coruscant. Most pilots chose to access one of few dozen public jump-lanes scattered over the Core world. These were regulated by the government, and, though safe, were often crowded and time-consuming.

Ares steered the  _Raven_  away from the jump-lane above the EDF, toward a private one he'd used before, near the Works district. It was a lesser-known lane, not as crowded, which meant less of a delay to reach hyperspace. His usage contract had expired last month, but sometimes, if he played his sabacc cards right, he could get a free pass.

Hopefully, it would work. He was more than ready for this job to be over. Though he'd debated about the matter a great deal last night, the lightsaber hilts remained in the pocket of his jacket, heavier than he'd anticipated. Kalinda had told the truth; he could have sold them for a tidy profit.

But he hadn't. It'd felt...wrong.

It shouldn't have felt wrong. They were just weapons, but he'd been unable to walk through the dealer's door and take the necessary steps to claim his payment. He told himself he would wait and sell the lightsabers  _and_ the crystals once he'd been paid in full, but it was a lie. Taking such a desperate offer from anyone, let alone a pregnant, potentially soon-to-be-widowed Jedi made him uncomfortable, but not nearly as much as selling off her lightsabers would.

Ares sighed. He'd never excelled at the bounty hunter game; he was too soft.  _I need to get out of this life._ He would, too. Very soon.

Somehow.

His  _lekku_ itched again. Without the cash from this job, he had no idea how he'd pay off Bane. Conceivably, he could find work once this run was over, but it was doubtful he'd do so before the week's end, and he knew that Bane would make good on his threat to take the  _Raven._ Ares took a deep breath as his hands tightened over the steering yoke. There was no way around it; he'd have to sell the sabers. It was foolish not to.

But it was also wrong. Too well did he know what it was to be left with nothing, to be so desperate that he'd be willing to sell the one thing he had in the galaxy. Oh, yes. Trax's harsh words had rung far too true.

The  _Stark Raven_ skimmed over the Core world, passing well-above the spacescrapers that populated the ecumenopolis. From what Ares could see through the viewport, the sun was starting to rise, casting the city in a golden light. Coruscant was always a pretty sight – from this vantage point, at any rate.

Just when he reached the edge of the Works, the comm station chimed, alerting him to an incoming holo-message. The source was anonymous, but he had a bad feeling...

He activated the receiver, and winced as Cad Bane's image flickered to life before his eyes. "Tabora," the Duros said pleasantly – always cause for suspicion. "Just the tailhead I wanted to chat with."

Ares clenched his jaw and tried not to let his apprehension bleed through his words. "I'm on a job, Bane. Can this, ah, conversation wait?"

"Your  _job_  is the reason I comm'd." Bane's eyes appeared blue through the holographic image, but Ares could imagine their crimson glow, more so when they narrowed at him.

"You'll have my last payment soon. And we already agreed on your additional cut."

Bane waved a gloved hand. "That was before I knew you were transportin' a  _Jedi._ "

He stretched the word out, adding a faint sneer to the term. It was no secret among their kind that Cad Bane had had more than his share of run-ins with the Order.

Ares' stomach twisted; he had an idea of where this conversation was heading. "How did you find out–"

"It don't matter," Bane broke in. "But word gets around, and you ain't as secretive as you think you are. Seps are offering a million creds a head for a Jedi. We could split the reward. You'll have your ship paid off, with a nice chunk to spare. All you have to do is say 'yes.'"

Ares was silent. He kept his eyes on the city beneath and all around the  _Raven,_ though his mind was working through just exactly what he could do with a half a million credits. More, actually, as he had  _two_ Jedi on board his ship, though it seemed Bane was unaware of the second.

But as quickly as the thoughts came, he dismissed them. Bane would never split anything with him; the Duros was known for many things, but  _sharing_ was not among them. Perhaps if the stakes had been higher, Bane would be willing to compromise, but Ares would have needed more leverage than simple possession of the Jedi. As things stood now, if Ares complied, likely he'd be screwed. And not in the fun way.

Besides...if selling the Jedi's lightsabers was wrong, turning her over to the Separatists was even worse, especially after they'd made a deal. Ares Tabora had few things to his name, but honor was one of them.

 _Too soft for this life_ , he thought darkly, tightening his grip on the steering yoke once more. Knowing what he did of Bane, things were probably about to get hot. "An interesting offer," he said politely. "But one I will have to, ah, decline. You'll have your original payment within the week."

Bane's eyes narrowed. "Too bad, tailhead. For you."

The transmission ended. Ares sighed as Bane's ship,  _The Sleight Of Hand_ , appeared before him in the viewport. The squat-beetle shaped vessel was known to most bounty hunters, and Bane made no secrets about its prowess.  _I see he got those new cloaking mods he was bragging about._

A bright flare leaped from the twin ion-cannons at the ship's sides, streaked through the air, and the  _Raven_ shuddered from the impact a moment later. Gritting his teeth, Ares veered the ship to the left in an attempt to evade another hit; the readout from the  _Raven's_ control panel indicated the damage was superficial. A warning shot.

Likely it would be the only one.

The comm console lit up again, though this time it was with a transmission from Traffic Control. "Vessel  _Stark Raven_ : Our sensors indicate that you are under fire. You are asked to stand by while the Coruscant Security Force is dispatched to your location."

Any other time, Ares would have welcomed a reprieve from Bane's ire, but getting authorities involved would only complicate matters. He scrambled to reply. "Ah, no, thank you. That won't be–"

"Stand by," Traffic Control repeated, curtly, and cut the link.

 _Well, kriff._  Grimacing, Ares glanced out of the viewport. If Bane heard the exchange, he did not care. He fired upon the  _Raven_ again.

Anger swam through Ares' veins. Bane thought he was weak and foolish, otherwise the Duros never would have attempted such a stunt in Corrie's atmo, so close to the authorities. He probably thought Ares would fold after a few shots, or else he'd let himself be blown to oblivion and Bane could take his chances that the Jedi would find a way to survive.

A hissing sound alerted Ares that someone had entered the cockpit. He glanced over to see an armored clone lunging for the turret controls. Ares frowned. "What are you doing here?"

"Not too keen on the idea of sitting on my  _shebs_  while we get blown to  _haran._ " The clone sat in the chair at Ares' side and began looking over the controls, tweaking a few knobs and dials with confidence.

"You know how to work those?" Ares asked through gritted teeth.

Traxis had replaced his helmet, but there was no mistaking it was him, especially with his next words. "Of-fekking-course I do,  _shabuir._ You fly; I'll shoot."

Another shot rocked the ship, but Ares was able to dodge the worst of it. He could have activated the turrets from here, but it was easier if he only had to concentrate on flying. A warning alarm began to blare, but another check against the console indicated that the damage was not too great. The paint would likely be scratched, though, which was irksome.

Ares cast a brief glance at his impromptu clone companion. "We need to get to that jump-lane ahead Can you give him something else to think about other than shooting at us?"

"My effing pleasure."

Ares tilted the yoke, sending the  _Raven_ up, up, up, to angle them away from another shot, but Traxis had already figured out the turret controls. A white trail of steam from the ion-cannon streaked toward Bane's ship, slamming against the dark-gray hull. A direct hit to the guns.

"Nice work."

Traxis grunted in acknowledgment. "Just get us the fek away from here. I'll make sure we come out in one piece."

The jump-lane was just ahead, though there were a few bulky freighters in line ahead of the  _Raven._ That would not do. Ares sighed heavily. In his heart of hearts, he was quite a lazy fellow, and hated doing things the hard way.

He entered a command on the comm-station, opening a channel through the entire ship. "If you are not sitting and buckled by now, I highly recommend it. We're about to leave atmo."

With that, he angled the  _Stark Raven_ up again, weaving her through the line of ships waiting for the jump-lane. Hoping all his passengers were secure, he flexed his wrists and tilted the ship's angle of approach so they'd clear atmo and reach the jump-lane almost from directly beneath it. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of another shot from Bane's ion-cannons heading his way, but he ignored it, trusting the scarred clone to handle the nuisance.

Traxis did not disappoint.

The next shot landed directly on the  _Sleight Of Hand_ 's viewport; though the transparisteel was military-grade and therefore shatterproof, the resulting ion residue coated the viewport in an opaque, white film. Granted, Bane didn't need to  _see_ them to shoot at them – that's what targeting computers were for – but the action would disorient him a bit. Just, as it turned out, enough.

Ares looped the  _Raven_ up and around, past the final ship in the jump-lane's queue. Once he entered in the coordinates for the Corellian Run hyperlane that would take them to the Rishi Sector, it was only a matter of seconds before the stars seemed to stretch around the  _Raven_. Ares'  _lekku_ sensed the jump before it happened; he always experienced a strange tightness at the base of his  _lekku_ in the moments prior to a hyperspace leap. Space bent before him, then the  _Stark Raven_ took true flight and left Cad Bane far behind.

As soon as he confirmed all was stable with his ship, Ares glanced at his temporary co-pilot. "That was an impressive assist," he said, bowing his head once. "You have my thanks."

Traxis' visor tilted, giving the impression that he was meeting Ares' eyes. "Not that I'm a fan of that fekker, Bane, but I didn't do it for  _you_. There's a few other people on this karking ship, remember?"

"Of course." Ares looked ahead, at the blue sheen of hyperspace. "Well, we are on schedule now. We should arrive at Kamino within approximately ten hours."

"Great. I'll let them know." Traxis stood up, made to leave, but froze when Ares said his name. "What?" he growled, glancing back at the helm.

Ares rubbed an imaginary smudge of dirt from the comm-station. "How much did you hear?"

This seemed to startle the scarred clone, for he turned fully and removed his helmet, clipping it to his belt before crossing his arms before his chest. "Enough."

"Enough?"

Traxis exhaled deeply and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "What do you want me to say, Tabora? Thanks for not selling her out to the highest bidder to pay off whatever  _shabla_ debt you owe? Thanks for being a decent, kriffing person?"

"Either would work. I'm not picky when it comes to praise." Ares offered a grin at the joke, though he wondered if Traxis would understand.

Traxis shook his head, but a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Eff you," he said, and slipped out of the cockpit.

Chuckling to himself, Ares faced forward once more. He took a deep breath and sank into the comfort of the  _Raven's_ pilot seat. Any craving he'd had for a cigarra was gone. Strange; he was probably in more trouble – and debt – now than he'd ever been, but he didn't regret his actions. That, he thought, was the good side of doing the right thing.

Besides, he still had the  _Raven._

* * *

_Moments ago..._

At least the firefight had been quick, though in retrospect, Kalinda lamented the fact that she'd been on her way to the 'fresher when it'd broken out. She sensed a disturbance moments before the ship was rocked to one side, but that was not enough to prevent her shoulder from being slammed into the bulkhead.

When Ares made his announcement over the ship's comm, she decided it was wiser to take her chances here than attempt to make her way back to the lounge. So Kali ducked into the nearest door, marked with a symbol for the ship's turrets, and promptly fell forward once more. Though, this time, the culprit was not a shot at the  _Raven's_  hull, but rather a teenage girl with blue skin and multiple  _lekku –_ dressed in the robes of a Jedi Padawan.

_Kriffing son of a shabla nerf-herder._

The ship rocked again, so Kali picked herself off of the ground, sent a pulse of Force-energy toward the door to close it, and tucked herself in beside whom she figured was Honi's errant Padawan.

"Hang on, Zara," Kali said, bracing her legs against the bulkhead. Above her head was the seat for the turret controls, and she tried to tilt her head to peer out of the dome-shaped viewport. All she could make out was Coruscant's upper-levels, cloaked in morning fog.

"Uh...okay..." Embarrassment flared from the girl, along with outright fear, but Kali was not in the mood to console the stowaway just now. Instead, she reached through the Force toward the helm, hoping to get a sense of what was taking place. What she found was their Twi'lek pilot's slightly forced calm, mixed with shots of apprehension and adrenaline, along with, of all things, Trax's peculiar brand of determined, focused ire.

Neither male was panicking, which let her know they had the situation under control. Sure enough, within moments the vibration of the ship changed, and Kali realized they were jumping into hyperspace. The force from the jump pressed her back into the bulkhead, and her slightly squished position on the floor made her back ache, but she didn't care. Once they were in hyperspace, they would be safe from whoever was attacking – she couldn't wait to learn what all  _that_ was about, by the way – and they would be on their way to Kamino. To Milo and Stonewall.

"Are we," the girl swallowed and looked around warily, "okay?"

From what Kali could tell, Zara was mostly Nautolan, with pale blue skin and the large, almost-liquid black eyes common to her species. She looked to be about fourteen or fifteen, and had some rather Humanoid features, like her nose, ears, and the lashes around her eyes, which made Kali think she was not a full-blooded Nautolan.

Kali closed her eyes and reached out with the Force once more. Trax was not in the cockpit any longer; he'd rejoined the others in the lounge. She sensed no more agitation from him than normal. That, coupled with the stabilization of their flight, made her think the danger was past.

So she nodded to Zara. "I believe so." Before she got up, she extended her hand to shake the girl's. "Hi there. I'm Kalinda Halcyon."

The Padawan accepted, though the angle was a bit awkward. "Uh...yeah, I figured. I'm Zara Karell."

Kali flashed her a wide, overly-bright smile. "Yeah. I figured."

Zara flushed a deep indigo, the color starting from her head and reaching almost the base of her  _lekku._ "I'm sorry to... Wait, is that my shirt?"

That was the signal to end this encounter. With some difficulty, Kali got to her feet, using the base of the turret for leverage, and helped Zara up once she'd stood. "Come on," she said once the Padawan was on her feet. "I'm sure Honi will be most interested in your presence."

"You're probably right."

 _No 'probably' about it,_ Kali thought wryly, though she said nothing. Actually, the fact that Zara had gotten aboard without  _anyone's_ knowledge was impressive, but it was doubtful Honi would see the situation the same way. They slipped out of the gunnery bay and into the cargo bay, making for the lounge. Before Kali could open the door, however, Honi beat her to it, probably sensing Zara's presence once the surprise shoot-out had ended.

Honi stood across the threshold, Crest, Weave and Traxis behind her. Several paces behind her, actually, about as far back as they could reasonably stand in the small seating area.

Kali didn't blame them.

White-lipped, cheeks flushing, blue eyes colder than Ilum's ice caves, her former Padawan was a force to be reckoned with when she was angry.

"I think she belongs to you," Kali said, indicating Zara.

"What. Were. You.  _Thinking_?" Honi hissed, glaring at her Padawan, who winced and shrank behind Kali's arm almost reflexively. "Sneaking out of the Temple, stowing aboard a bounty hunter's vessel...explain yourself at once, Zara!"

"I..." The Padawan gulped and peered at her Master. "I was worried you might need my help."

Honi's eyes narrowed. "I am a full-grown woman, Zara, and a Jedi Knight.  _You_  are a child, a Padawan. I most certainly  _don't_  need–"

Her words snapped off as she caught Kali's eyes. Though Honi and Kalinda had not spoken through the Force in many years, Kali found she was able to get her point across anyway.  _She acted exactly as you did, my former apprentice. Think of that, before you judge her too harshly._

Honi made a noise of disgust. "Except I didn't  _stow_ away, Kalinda."

Everyone glanced at Kali curiously, but she shook her head. "I think the two of you have some catching up to do," she said, nodding between Honi and Zara. "Guys? Can you come with me, please?"

The clones practically fought one another to get out of the lounge, spilling into the cargo hold while Honi pulled her grimacing Padawan inside. Once the door closed, Kali glanced between her men. "I don't envy her."

"Tallis?" Weave asked.

Kali sighed. "Zara."

"So, that's Tallis' Padawan," Crest said thoughtfully as the four of them went to the cockpit. "Huh. Ballsy little thing, to sneak aboard like that."

"Kriffing  _stupid_  little thing is more like," Traxis growled. "She could have been blown to fragging oblivion with the rest of us. Lucky for everyone I know how to work a turret."

Kali paused halfway across the cargo bay, and regarded the scarred clone. "You were in the cockpit. Who attacked us, Traxis?"

Of all the reactions she would have expected from him, embarrassment was not one of them. It faded quickly, though, into a sort of wary thoughtfulness – another emotion she had not anticipated. "Cad Bane," he said after a beat. "I wasn't  _in_  the cockpit, but I...heard some things. Apparently Bane and Tabora had a...disagreement."

Crest and Weave pulled off their buckets and regarded their brother. "Cad-kriffing-Bane?" Crest said, recovering first. "Seriously?" He shot an incredulous look at Kali. "Did you know Tabora was in contact with that  _sleemo_?"

"No," she replied.

But Traxis cleared his throat. "Look...I'm not saying he's one-hundred-percent trustworthy or anything, but the  _osik_ went down because Tabora refused to," he glanced at Kali and dropped his voice to a murmur, "turn you over to the Seps, like Bane wanted. That pissed off the Duros, then the shooting started."

"And how," Crest lifted a brow, "did you learn all of  _that_?"

The scarred clone shrugged, then tapped his bucket. "The volume controls on these things make eavesdropping pretty kriffing easy, you know."

Weave made a noncommittal noise, then glanced at Kali. "What should we do?"

At this, all three clones looked at Kali, who sighed and dropped her shoulders. Suddenly, she was too tired to deal with any of this. They were on their way to Kamino; that was all that mattered.

"Nothing, for now," she said at last. "Ares seems to be trustworthy, at least for the moment. I'd like someone to keep an eye on him, but beyond that, we need to focus on what we're going to do when we reach Kamino. I'm still not sure  _how_  we'll actually get to Stone and Mi."

The clones nodded, but Weave gave her a knowing look. "We can discuss a lot of that with Tallis," he said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Maybe you should get a little rest. At least for an hour or so?"

She nearly objected, but thought better of it. After her conversation with Ben last night, sleep had been fitful at best; she'd woken at least half a dozen times with worries and thoughts about the upcoming mission. In all likelihood she wouldn't sleep, but there were other ways she could spend her time that could be more productive.

"Alright," she said to the medic. "In the meantime, get Honi to help you brainstorm our arrival on Kamino. But that will entail keeping her from filleting her Padawan until  _after_  we've completed our objective."

Crest chuckled and the others nodded, and she sensed flickering relief from each of them, both at her willingness to take it easy and the reference to their goal in military terms. It helped to think of this as just another mission: an extraction. It helped not to think of the men themselves.

Or at least she assumed that was the case. For Kali, this was far too personal of a mission, perhaps more so than any she'd been on.

She turned to go, but paused as one more thought occurred to her. She withdrew her comlink from her pocket and tossed it to the nearest clone – Crest. "I'm going to need all my focus in a minute, so hang on to this for me, please. I'm not expecting any calls, but you never know."

The bald clone gave her a snappy salute. "Yes, sir, General."

The formality of the action was undermined by his wink, and Kali found she was able to smile back before she turned away.

Ares had given them a perfunctory idea of the  _Stark Raven's_ layout, so she knew the passenger cabins were located close by. After parting ways with the guys, Kali slipped into the nearest one. It was small but not cramped; actually, it reminded her a little of her and Stone's cabin on the  _Wayfarer._ There was a slender bunk, a table and two chairs, and a small door that led to an adjacent 'fresher.

Kali pulled off her boots and settled upon the bunk in a standard meditative pose: back straight, legs crossed, knees bent, hands resting in her lap. She slipped into meditation easily after a few steady breaths, allowing herself to savor the sense of calm focus that washed over her. With a few more breaths, she reached through the eddies of Force-energy to those nearest to her, assessing their moods with what amounted to peering through an open window. The clones, Honi and Zara, were in the lounge, engrossed and attentive. Ares was at the helm, alone, mind on the journey.

Good. Kali took another breath, inhaling to gather her strength. As she did, she felt for the thread of love that connected her and Stonewall, which she'd done multiple times since his arrest. Though they could not speak to one another, she was comforted by the connection between them. It was there, as always, though now it was fainter than it'd ever been. She tried not to let that bother her. When she released the breath, so did she stretch out her awareness along the thread, hoping to reach him through the stars, all the way to the storm-world that held him captive.

There. She touched his bright spirit, viewing it in her mind's eye as a distant, dimming star. It was faint, but present, so he was alive; if he was alive, there was hope. Kali inhaled again, gathering what love she could to send it his way, in the hopes of bolstering his spirits in lieu of actually speaking to one another.

So dim, so distant. Hardly anything at all. Kali reached out her focus as far as she could, stretching herself thinner and thinner in an attempt to touch the man she loved, to at least give him something to hold onto, some indication that she was making good on her promise to find him.

She reached for the dimming star. It flared brightly once before fading again, almost to nothing.

Until it died, and the thread was severed.


	20. Chapter Nineteen

Lyrics: ["Moondust," by Jaymes Young. (The Sound Remedy remix – again, very important to find the right version.)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wAT36I57ZEI&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp&index=20)

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen**

_I'm a castaway._

_Men reap what they sow,_ **_  
_ ** _And_ _I'll say what I know to be true._

_Meanwhile..._

They brought Stonewall back to the lab.

Somehow, he thought it was for the last time.

As before, he was strapped to one of the long, shining tables. As before, he was restrained to the point of immobility, though this time he did not fight. Only a few days here was too long. Like the other men of The Dregs, he'd come to accept his fate, though he had tried to make provisions against it. At least this time he wasn't naked.

There were several Kaminoans, but he only watched Creon Dai's movements, never taking his eyes off the elder long-neck even as one of the others shaved his head while yet another pressed a hypospray to his neck – a tranquilizer or numbing agent of some kind, for a languid haze seeped through his veins an instant later. Despite the tranq, there was a flare of apprehension when another long-neck attached a few of the sticky-nodes to his now clean-shaven skull and jammed an IV into his arm. Stonewall tried to calm himself with a deep breath, but the Force-suppressing collar around his neck seemed to press tighter.

Creon Dai stood over him, cool gray eyes sweeping over his form. The  _shabla_ datapad was in his slender fingers, and the aiwha _-_ bait muttered instructions to his underlings. Stonewall tried to listen, but the tranqs made his hearing fuzzy and the words were muddled.

All but one: "...ready."

By now his body was numb and his thoughts were sluggish, so he felt only a faint sort of vibration, beginning with his head and spreading through each limb. It wasn't painful, which he found odd, almost laughable. Wasn't it supposed to hurt, to have his entire self stripped away?

He tried to chuckle, but his body wouldn't move. Gray eyes flashed his way, then someone angled a light directly above his own eyes, making him squint. The momentary discomfort pulled him out of his drugged bewilderment and reminded him of something important.

Quickly, he made a mental examination of the wall in his mind, ensuring it was high and solid. As he did, the vibration strengthened to a buzz, as if he stood next to a blaring speaker. Stonewall's bewilderment faded completely and his focus sharpened. He inspected his mental wall, pacing the perimeter, running his hands along the cooling stones, checking for fractures. There were none.

Except...

A Kaminoan spoke above him. "State your designation."

Stonewall gritted his teeth at the distraction, but replied before he could stop himself. "CC-3077. Captain Stonewall. Shadow Squad. Seventh Sky Corps."

Here. An aperture, large enough for his hand. It was significant...he didn't know how or why, but it was vastly important that this gap be sealed.

The vibration increased. It felt sort of like he was caught at the beginning of a hyperspace jump. "State your designation," the Kaminoan said.

"CC-3077." He paused, because the next part was fuzzy in his memory. "Captain... Shadow Squad. Seventh Sky Corps."

Back to the wall in his mind. He ran his palm over the aperture, trying to think of what he could do to seal it. How had he created the rest of the wall? Panic set in –  _had_  he created it, or was it an illusion, a byproduct of...whatever the long-necks were doing to him?

"State your designation."

"CC-3077. Captain. Shadow Squad. Seventh..."

Memory failed him again, but he fought the instinctive fear of the loss. He would not let himself panic now. That much, he could control. He took a deep breath, ignoring the tightness of a collar around his neck and the steadily increasing vibration throughout his whole self. Distractions. He pushed them away and focused on the aperture in the wall. He pressed both palms against it and concentrated...

The Kaminoan's voice was seaglass-smooth. "State your designation."

"CC..." There was a number on the edge of his memory, but he could not find it. He had too many other things to focus on, anyway. "Captain. Shadow Squad."

The stone around the aperture was gray and smooth, flecked with something that sparkled even in the haze of his mind. He had to fill the gap, so he imagined more of the same stone, taking the shape of the open space beneath his hand. There was no time to question why he did this, or if he even could. There was only was urgency, a driving  _need_ to perform this action.

More vibrations. Stronger, of jarring his teeth and rattling his bones within their cage of muscle and sinew. Threads of pain wove through his consciousness, but he ignored them. There was another thread, not one of pain, but some other, more pleasant thing reaching for him, but he ignored that, too. All that mattered was the wall.

"State your designation."

He exhaled in annoyance. "Captain. Shadow Squad..."

Something else was missing. It didn't matter. Only one thing mattered. He gritted his teeth through the vibrations and pain, and focused.

Gradually, a stone appeared in the slot, perfectly formed to fill the rectangular gap. Without hesitation, he shoved it in place, pressing his shoulder to the spot to wedge it in. When he mentally stepped back to examine his work, he saw with satisfaction that the stone fit perfectly in the wall. Only a few tiny cracks of light bled through. Now he just needed to seal the gap.

"State your designation."

Kriffing hell. He couldn't remember. If he tried, he knew somehow that he'd fail this final step with the wall, so he only blurted the first thing that came to his mind. "Shadow Squad."

Cement. That's what he needed. Quickly, he found some and worked it into those final cracks, spreading it with his forefinger and thumb to ensure a perfect seal. It was paler than the gray stone, and dried instantly. Or so he imagined.

There. It was done. He mentally sat back with relief, though the longer he looked at the wall, the harder it was to remember why it existed in the first place. Something important was behind it...

A flare of pain struck him, pulling his attention away from the wall. Pain was always a warning. His body ached and his muscles were tense, automatically fighting the constant vibration. Each thought was sluggish.

"State your designation."

The answer should be easy. But when his mouth opened, only a single word slunk free. "Shadow..."

Someone else spoke. "The unit's readings have stabilized."

"Biological functions are normal; brainwave patterns correlate with established parameters."

"Midichlorian count also remains stable."

The voices sounded similar, all calm and smooth. There was one, though, that stuck out, as it held a measure of satisfaction.

"Good. Then it is done."

* * *

Across the stars, Kalinda Halcyon's eyes opened, but she saw only shadows.

Everything had slowed to a halt, even her own heartbeat. Her breath; her body. Too still.

It wasn't possible. It couldn't be...

Just in case, she tried to reach him again, shutting away every other distraction, sense and feeling. But...

Gone.

Stonewall was gone.

_No..._

The thread that had connected them for so long was severed. There was nothing left of him but her memories, and the new life within her body, but that wasn't enough, not right now. She was alone. She drew the Force to her, hugged it close and wrapped herself within it. So shielded, she was hidden from the others, whom she could not bear to face.

Kali experienced her husband's absence like a physical thing, as if someone had reached into her chest and pulled out her heart, and she gasped at the shock of it, the pain. This loss did not eke away at her already fragile control. It ripped the galaxy out from under her feet and sent her falling.

Heat tore at her eyes and throat, but her body was encased in ice. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe or speak or even think.

Stonewall was dead. Kalinda Halcyon shattered.

* * *

A/N: Another difficult chapter to write.

Next time: Something a bit different; a sort of flashback.


	21. Chapter Twenty

Lyrics: ["Wherever You Will Go," by Charlene Soraia, from  _Moonchild_.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=olr9vY7FFs0&index=21&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp)

* * *

**Chapter Twenty**

_If a great wave shall fall,_

_It will fall upon us all._

_And between the sand and stone,_

_Could you make it on your own?_

_Approximately two weeks earlier..._

Tibor Taro was not whole until his son, Omree, was in his arms.

Until that moment, Tibor had tried to maintain the mask of stoicism that was proper when dealing with non-Iktotchi, who so often judged his kind with suspicion and mistook every blink or indrawn breath as prescience. No matter that he'd not heard the Song in earnest since he'd left his homeworld, years ago. No matter that his understanding of future events were discordant at best. It was common knowledge among the galaxy that Iktotchi could "see" what was to come; it was why his people were banned from houses of chance and gambling establishments. They had an unfair advantage.

Perhaps so. Perhaps not. What did a few rounds of sabacc matter, in the grand symphony of the galaxy?

Tibor had never cared about such petty affairs as gambling. His goal, his mission, ever since the death of his beloved wife, was to foster peace and understanding among his people and the rest of the galaxy. So it was he'd found himself far away from Iktotch, a diplomat to the great Republic that had stood for thousands of years, a bastion of democracy.

For his trouble, his son was stolen.

Heedless of the mud that clung to Omree's clothing, Tibor hugged his baby closer, breathing in his son's scent. A little of himself, a little of his beloved Aja. Quite a bit of swamp. But he didn't care. Tibor embraced his son and wept with joy.

Omree, too, was filled with joy, though his emotions were tempered by a long, fearful few days. He could not speak yet, not truly, but neither father nor son needed speech to communicate. Within Tibor's mind, Omree's impressions of the daring rescue made themselves quite evident.

_Fire! Da, there was fire, and big boom! Loud, metal screech like Uncle Sero's tusk-cats when they hungry. And blasters and dead droids, and the one man in armor had a glowstick..._

Too overwhelmed with relief to pick up more than a basic understanding of Omree's impressions, Tibor only sent his son waves of love and affection through the telepathic bond all Iktotchi family members shared.

At last, when he collected himself enough to speak, he looked at the Human Jedi who had returned Omree. She was petite, to Tibor's way of thinking, delicate-looking as were most of her kind. Her dark eyes were warm, though ringed with gray exhaustion, and her beige robes were splattered with the same mud that covered his son's shirt. But her smile was wide.

"I cannot..." Tibor nearly choked on the words, and tried again. "I cannot thank you enough."

"You don't have to," she said, bowing elegantly. "We're all just glad he's safe."

"My men have reported that all Separatist presences in Caprin have been eliminated." One of the Republic clone troopers stood beside the Jedi; this one's armor made him seem more solid, but Tibor still thought the Humans all looked so fragile.

Tibor exhaled with relief, though a flare of chagrin struck him. He'd been so focused on getting his son back, he'd all but forgotten the rest of Balasi. The planet's rich rhodium mines were essential to the Republic's efforts, but the planetary leaders had been unwilling to deal with the Republic directly; he'd been in negotiation for the resources, and had foolishly brought Omree with him.

Before Omree's abduction, Tibor had not wanted to return to Iktotch, like so many of his and Omree's people were these days. It felt too much like giving up.

But after nearly losing all he valued in this galaxy, perhaps it was better to return home, to safety and family. Perhaps it was best that Omree grow up on Iktotch. Tibor's brother had suggested as much, citing a growing dark discord in the galaxy as a reason to return home. _"The Song does not lie_ ," he'd said to Tibor many times. " _A shadow falls across the galaxy; a great wave is going to crash."_

Tibor's work here was done. Though the cost had been far too high, the one thing his son's kidnapping had accomplished was to prove the Republic's mettle to the Balasian rulers. They'd signed the trade agreement last night. All that was left to do was manage a few small details, then Tibor and Omree could return home.

The thoughts were fleeting. Still hugging his son, Tibor cast a faint smile between Jedi and clone, hoping they understood its significance. "That is good news," he said to the clone, who nodded once. "Your men are to be commended."

Omree tugged at one of his father's horns, curving gracefully down his chin.  _That one, Da. That one had a glowsword! Swoosh! Zssooom!_ Within Tibor's mind, the distinctive sound of a lightsaber echoed, but Tibor pushed the notion aside. Surely the boy was confused; he'd been through so much, after all.

 _Hush now, little one,_ he sent back, though he ensured the request was filled with love.

Omree sighed deeply, a pout crossing his chubby face, and for one moment he looked so much like his mother...

It was time to leave, but Tibor was not quite ready. He glanced at the Jedi again. "Omree and I will be taking our leave of this world tomorrow; in the meantime, would you break bread with us? After everyone is cleaned up, of course."

He could not sense the Jedi's emotions, only that of other Iktotchi he was related to, but he thought he caught a flicker of amusement from her. Or perhaps it was simply that her expression gave far too much away. They were quite a vivid species, Humans. Everything inside was plainly written upon their features. Strange, indeed.

The Jedi glanced at the clone beside her, and Tibor watched as some sort of silent understanding passed between them. Though he could not have named what it was, he knew that they were communicating, somehow, although in a manner he could not discern. Very strange. Perhaps Humans were more expressive than even he realized.

"Some cleaning up would be most welcome," the Jedi said, indicating her sodden robes and the clone's mud-spattered  _kama –_ a term Tibor had picked up from earlier interactions with the Human. The Jedi bowed again. "But not as welcome as dinner. Thank you."

* * *

It was not until a few days later that Tibor understood what his son had been trying to tell him, and thus solved the mystery of what had passed between the Jedi and the clone.

He and Omree had left for Iktotch the morning after the dinner with the Republic squad. As always, the closer Tibor got to his homeworld, the stronger the Song became, and the harder he had to work to ignore the music of the spheres that resonated within the spiraling chambers of his horns.

The Song was an Iktotchi's curse, or blessing, depending on one's point of view. It was said by the Elders that all the universe was made of music, a song of what was, is, and would be, but only the Iktotchi had developed a means to hear it. The Song echoed in the horns of all Iktotchi, but it was clearest when they were home.

Generally, he was able to ignore it.

But not this time.

They were home, in the city of Ankhela. Tibor was tucking Omree into bed. As he did, his son looked at him with large eyes and said, as clearly as a one-year old could, "Waan' bee Jedd-aye."

Pride raced through Tibor's veins. To be so young, and speak in Iktotchese! He considered comm'ing his brother, but decided to inquire a bit more into Omree's words. Iktotchi Jedi were not unheard of – Tibor had even met Master Tiin, on the Jedi Council – but as far as he knew Omree was not Force-sensitive.

He smiled down at his son. "You want to be a Jedi?" he asked, speaking aloud in their native tongue as well as communicating through their telepathic bond.

Omree nodded vigorously. "Waan' bee Jedd-aye!"

This time, the words were accompanied by emotion and vision, both likely originating from Omree's latest encounter with the Jedi on Balasi. But this was no impression. It was too clear, too detailed. A man in white armor, wearing a  _kama_ and the distinctive T-visor of the clone troopers...holding a lightsaber. The blue blade glowed fiercely amidst the patina of Omree's memory.

Except...clone troopers were not Jedi. They were just Humans, like any other. They could not wield lightsabers any more than they could hear the Song. Tibor studied his son, trying to understand. Surely Omree had mixed up his impressions of the Human Jedi and her clone captain.

Deep within the chambers of his horns, the music of the spheres swelled, and Tibor froze as a symphony of future events washed over him.

_The clone captain will be taken from the others of his squad, and the Jedi; he will be taken to a world of storms; he will be washed clean. He will be given new life, a new identity, and he will be put to new use. Grief will follow in his wake, but in the meantime, he will serve..._

The Song's pitch changed, threads of warning trembling through each note. _The clone will serve someone strong. Someone powerful...someone who does not yet know of these events, but who will want to. Another Human, a male...one who will rule the galaxy one day. One who already does, in a sense._

"Da?"

Tibor blinked hard, pulling himself away from the Song, though the music still played in the back of his mind. It was constant, here. He wondered if Omree had sensed it yet. He looked at his son again, and thought the words as well as spoke them. "What did you see, Omree?"

Omree smiled, broadly and with only joy. "Jedd-aye!"

This was accompanied by the boy's mimicry of a lightsaber's noises, and Tibor resisted the urge to rub his forehead. Passing strange, to be sure. What did it all mean?

He thought about it all that night, and for the next few days. When he asked Omree about the clone captain, the answer was always the same.  _Jedi._

Tibor remembered how the clone and Jedi had looked at one another. Perhaps to Humans it was a subtle gesture, but to him, they may as well have shouted. And if the clone could use a lightsaber, as Omree had communicated, he could use the Force, to a degree.

_One who will rule the galaxy one day. One who already does, in a sense._

_A shadow falls across the galaxy; a great wave is going to crash. Iktotch and all her children will be consumed unless the tide can be stemmed._

Rarely was the Song this clear, even to the more experienced Elders. Tibor listened, and heard the name of this "one who" in the music, and he did not want to believe it. But he also heard the sound of the crashing wave.

The Song was always true. The shadow would fall and everything in the galaxy would be flooded with darkness, and there was no stopping it. Iktotch would not be immune. Omree would not be safe in the future unless his father took action  _now_.

Upon realizing this, panic seized Tibor and urged him to send the message to Coruscant, though he hoped it was all folly. Late one night, mere hours after he'd sent the message, a reply came. Not from the original place where he'd sent his transmission, but another, anonymous source. Provided the information was accurate, his terms would be met.

But if Tibor was feeding false information...

Tibor stood at the doorway to his son's room for many hours, watching Omree sleep, just to be sure he was well. The information was true, as far as he knew. He didn't know what would be done with the knowledge now. All that mattered was the little life sleeping in the crib not five paces from where he stood. Omree needed a home, needed a shelter from the wave that would crush the rest of the galaxy. Tibor didn't care about anything else; there was nothing else but his son.

Tibor Taro bought his son's safety with one clone's life.

A fair price, so he thought.

* * *

A/N: Another question answered. Hopefully. I know this chapter was a bit out of left field. Let me know if you're still scratching your head.

According to the Wook, "Iktotchi had powerful telepathic abilities." What exactly those abilities  _are_  is not indicated, so I took a little creative license. ;)

Next time: Present-day, on Kamino. Also, who's ready for some pseudo-pseudo science?! :D

FYI, I've currently got some pretty huge life-event stuff going on. (It's  _good_  stuff, but time-and-energy consuming.) I plan to stick to my posting schedule, but will probably fall even further behind on reading/reviewing other stories. If I neglect your writing, I sincerely apologize. Once the dust settles, I'll catch up. Thanks for being patient! :)


	22. Chapter Twenty-One

Note: Real Life is happening, so y'all get this chapter a day early. Enjoy! :)

Disclaimer: My knowledge of genetic manipulation and higher brain functions is rudimentary at best, and there's only so much research I can do before  _my_  brain turns to mush. What follows is science fiction, emphasis on  _fiction_. ;)

Lyrics:[ "Gallows Pole," by Led Zeppelin, from  _Led Zep_ _pelin III._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7kBX0K9nxPc)

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-One**

_Hangman, hangman, hold it a little while,_

_I think I see my brother coming, riding many a mile._

_Brother, did you get me some silver?_

_Did you get a little gold?_

_What did you bring me, my brother,_

_To keep me from the gallows pole?_

_Present-day..._

Creon Dai finished his report and waited for the inevitable praise. However, the Jedi Master's holographic image only flickered; the absence of any sort of reaction seemed to swallow Creon's lab like a cresting wave.

"You are certain the reconditioning was successful?" Tyranus said at last.

Creon tightened his fingers over his datapad. "Quite. Although initially I was uncertain whether the process could be altered to suit your needs, but my nanogene droids allowed the procedure to be successfully completed."

He paused, considering how best to explain his methods to a non-scientist. "The nanogene droids were able to isolate the processes of the clone's DNA methylation, which is responsible for maintaining memory storage in Humans. Using a specific set of programming and directed via electrical impulses, the droids were essentially able to block off those functions, thereby removing the unit's catalog of memories in line with the standard reconditioning process."

He did not mention that reconditioning was rarely a permanent solution; clones who underwent the usual process would often experience a slow return of their memories after several months, assuming they lived that long. Most did not. Besides, there was no record of reconditioning a clone using the nanogene droids. Perhaps they could enact a permanent change. Further study was required.

Lord Tyranus nodded. "Can the unit still use the Force?"

"Indeed." Creon entered a code into his datapad, replacing his contact's image with a 3-D model of the clone's brain. "It is common knowledge that the Force is accessed via midichlorians, which are found in the blood. However, research has shown that there is a section of the humanoid brain, within the parietal lobe, that controls a being's ability to actually manipulate the Force."

He entered another code, and a small section at the center of the brain-image began to glow. "Though the clone's brain has been altered by the nanogene droids, this section remains untouched, and its midichlorian count is consistent with our initial readings. In theory, the unit should still be able to access the Force."

Lord Tyranus' image returned, and Creon was startled to see the Human male was scowling. "In theory? Have you not tested the clone?"

Creon indicated the unit, still lying prone on the table in his lab. "It has not awoken from the sedatives. I wanted to report the procedure's success to you at once. When the unit is conscious, I will–"

But the Jedi cut off his words. "I want  _results,_ Scientist Dai, not theories. You will contact me before you begin the final test; I wish to witness it myself."

"Of course," Creon said, inclining his head. Inwardly, he seethed at being interrupted when speaking of his work, but perhaps he now had enough cause to discuss the continuation of his research with his Jedi benefactor. "The nanogene droids were successful," he said again, slowly, so the Human would understand the significance of the words. "I am confident the tests will prove that statement to be true. Once you have your clone, will I then be given the means to continue my research elsewhere?"

The Jedi Master's refined accent might have been vaguely familiar if Creon had bothered himself with distinguishing one Human from another. "Once I have my clone, you will be taken care of, Scientist Dai. Do not trouble yourself over trivialities."

Creon blinked. "I am not–"

But he didn't finish his words, for the transmission died.

 _Capricious Humans,_  he thought with a disdainful exhale.  _However did they become so successful?_

Well, if he was going to perform one final test, there were a few things he needed to attend to first. Creon turned his attention back to his datapad.

The clone lay beside him, quiet upon the table. Its breathing pattern was steady, as was its heart-rate, so Creon sent a quick message to the guards to bring the unit to a holding cell, where it would remain until it could be tested. With any luck, when it awoke, the irksome rebellion would be gone, and all that remained would be an absolutely loyal soldier who could wield the Force.

Creon's nictitating membranes flickered with excitement; this one could be one of many. Previous attempts to clone Force-sensitives had failed, but his nanogene droids had not been used. Perhaps this was the start of something new, something grand.

Something he could lay claim to.

* * *

They brought Milo back to the training-room.

Somehow, he thought it was for the last time.

In the hours after Ward and Halligan had taken Stonewall away, he'd not eaten nor slept. Kriff, he'd barely managed to do anything other than pace endless circles in his cell. He'd ignored Zero and told the guards to eff off when they tried to bring him out for morning exercises. That had earned him a few dirty looks, but for once, Ward and Halligan had shown mercy and let him be.

In retrospect, that was the first sign that something was very, very wrong. But Milo had been too focused on the memories clogging his brain and too wrapped up in the anxiety of the severed mental bond with his  _vod_ to notice much of anything else.

When the guards had come for him again, he only stared at them dumbly until Ward sighed and grabbed his wrists, cuffing him with one fluid motion before urging him out of the cell. "Come on, dreg," Ward had said, though his voice held no humor. "It's time."

Now Milo stood in the training-room, as he had before with Stonewall and Cobble. But he was alone. Even Ward and Halligan had not stayed.

The room was not as brightly-lit as before, and there were only a few spotlights above his head, creating strange shadows at the room's perimeter.  _Potentials,_ his trainers as a cadet had called them; places for unfriendlies to hide. The observation deck that he and Stonewall had destroyed had not been cleaned up, and he could see the glow of a datapad from behind a pile of rubble. Creon Dai was probably there, though the long-neck was silent. Milo's guts squirmed in the way they did before a bad clanker-fight and his body warred between  _fight_ or  _flight_ instincts _,_ but there was nothing to fight with. Halligan had unbound him at least, but he'd heard the chamber lock behind him, which meant he had nowhere to go.

A few memories filtered into his consciousness: a hot, humid day on Balasi; the sound of aphrens and the squish of mud beneath his boots. Stonewall's memories. They surfaced often, but in the last few hours he'd learned that if he ignored them, they would sink back beneath the surface of his mind. He took a deep breath to calm his roiling nerves.

Just when he was thinking he ought to try the door, just in case, another door opened, far across the room. It wasn't a door he'd noticed before. Immediately, Milo went on the alert as he watched the unfamiliar, bald clone stalk toward him, a slender vibrosword in his grip.

No. It was not a strange clone. It was Stonewall. Milo knew his  _vod_ too well to be fooled by the lack of hair, and after a few steps, Milo could make out the Force-suppressing collar around his neck. But there was no recognition in his former captain's eyes as they remained fixed on Milo, and his steps were predatory.

Milo's blood turned to ice. He didn't have a clue what was going on, but it was probably bad. If his brother had been reconditioned, there was no telling what had become of the man he was; by all accounts, by Stonewall's own fears, that man did not exist any more.

But he had to try. "Stonewall?"

His  _vod_ did not react to the name. His steps did not quicken and his gaze did not drop. The only thing that changed was a tightening of his grip on the weapon in his gloved hand. Unlike Milo, this man was not wearing fatigues, but a body-suit, the kind all clones normally wore beneath their gear. The vibro itself was unlike any Milo had seen, except in holos; he was no expert, not like Traxis, but he thought this one had been modified to cast a faint glow, similar to that of a lightsaber. Where the sight normally would have been heartening, now it sent another chill through Milo's veins.

Coupled with the dim lights at the room's edges and the yellow glow of the vibrosword, the effect was as if Not-Stonewall had appeared from the shadows themselves.

Milo swallowed. The back of his head smacked into something hard; apparently he'd retreated all the way across the room and had slammed into the perimeter wall. Not-Stonewall approached. His eyes were still locked onto Milo, and the closer he drew, the more Milo could see that  _Stonewall_ was not behind those eyes any longer. His former captain had been a fierce fighter, even before gaining the Force, but his ferocity in battle had always been tempered with a gentleness in all other areas.

There was none of that gentleness now. No warm humor lit this man's eyes. No wry amusement at something one of his  _vode_ or Kali had said crossed his face. He was all sharp angles and a simmering kind of fire that Milo had never before seen in another living creature.

Milo's heart kicked up a few more klicks per hour, and his palms prickled with sweat.

Not-Stonewall still stalked his way. When the former captain was only a few paces away, Milo lifted his hands. "Stonewall...can you hear me? Stonewall, it's me, Milo. Your  _vod._ Your brother. Stonewall?"

When Not-Stonewall was less than an arm's length from Milo, he halted. Encouraged as much by this as by the fact that Not-Stonewall had not yet actually raised his weapon to strike, Milo cleared his throat and tried to continue his reasoning. "Look, I know you're not feeling...like yourself, but you have to  _listen_  to me, Stonewall. This isn't you. This isn't who you are."

Kriff, it was hard to look away from Not-Stonewall's eyes. They seemed to glow in the dim light of the training-room, and they didn't blink, which was  _really_  creepy. They remained fixed on Milo's eyes, though the other man was silent.

Suddenly, Creon Dai's voice echoed through the room. "Execute the traitor. Execute unit CT-6396."

 _Fek_.

Before the long-neck could finish the sentence, Milo ducked out of the way. He'd started to move at the first "execute," as that word probably did not bode well for him in this context. Fight or flight reflexes kicked in in earnest, and Milo's body moved without thinking. Flight was the best option, at least right now. The vibrosword hummed as it arced toward his head, but he only felt a faint swoosh of wind from its passage. Milo rolled forward a few meters, then sprang to his feet to get his bearings.

He didn't see Not-Stonewall until it was too late.

The other clone leaped out of the shadows to bear down upon Milo in one fluid, fierce motion. He knocked Milo to the floor with the force of the leap. Stars bloomed before Milo's eyes and a dizzying pain was quick on their heels as the back of his skull slammed against the ferrocrete. A huge pressure on his chest made him gasp; when the stars cleared he realized the other clone had one knee pressed into this solar-plexus, using the rest of his weight to subdue his quarry. One of Not-Stonewall's hands gripped Milo's throat, blocking his airway; the other still held the vibrosword.

Breathing took priority above all other desires, so Milo struggled to suck in even the tiniest amount of air. Panic set in almost at once, an instinctive reaction to being choked to death, and he fought against that emotion, too. His body writhed and jerked beneath Not-Stonewall's, but his movements were futile. He was not as strong as his  _vod,_ especially not without the Force.

_The Force..._

A  _shabla_ crazy idea entered Milo's head as he struggled for air. The room dimmed around him, but he fought against the shadows and reached for his brother's arm. With what strength remained, Milo grabbed Stonewall's wrist and tried to make him  _remember,_ even if only for a moment, even if nothing would work.

The blade lifted above Not-Stonewall's head, glowing faintly as it angled toward Milo's heart. There was no time to hesitate. Milo had no idea what he was doing, other than acting out of pure desperation, so he did the only thing he could think of to  _reach_ Stonewall.

 _We're brothers, Stonewall._ Vode _. Don't do this. You don't want to do this._ He tried to think of Crest, Weave, and Traxis, and Kalinda. He tried to think  _Shadow Squad._

He managed it, for a moment.

The flash of yellow tilted before the blade bit into his chest and buried itself deep. Milo gasped in surprise.

But it didn't hurt, which was unexpected. And he wasn't scared, either, though he probably should have been.

* * *

_Earlier..._

Nothing.

When he awoke, he was in an empty cell, lying on the floor. He was alone. He felt nothing; not cold, not tired, not even pain. But there was not an emptiness within him, as even being  _empty_ would have been a state of being, and therefore  _something._ Emptiness would imply that something had been there, before.

But there was nothing.

He did not know how he'd come to be here, or why. He did not know what he was supposed to call himself.

Panic began to set in, and he struggled to his feet, desperate to be moving. If he was moving, he was in control of  _something._ Once he was up, he began to try and piece his world together, to bring some semblance of order. He paced the cell's edges and hovered his hand above the humming energy-shield, naming each thing he saw and filing the knowledge away for later use. Walls. Floor. Energy-shield; beyond that, he saw only darkness, which told him nothing. He plucked at the gray fabric of his clothing. Shirt. Pants. He ran a hand over his head. Bald.

Some of his panic eased, sending him into a state of severe agitation. He knew these simple things, but they were not enough to satisfy. A deep breath helped him calm down a bit more, and in doing so, he noticed the press of a collar around his neck. Curious, he ran his fingertips over every inch of the smooth metal and padded interior, but he found nothing he understood.

But, oddly, the collar reminded him of  _something_.

He shut his eyes, and tried to think...

Pain. The collar meant pain. But also... He took another deep breath, and another. Inhale. Exhale. This was important. There was an answer within this action. As he breathed, he relaxed, and as he relaxed, he felt something unexpected. At first he thought he was ill, for a flash of feverish heat swept across his body, followed by a thrill of what he could only think of as starlight swimming through his whole self. He shivered at the force of it.

Then, he remembered. The Force. This wild, sparkling energy was the Force.

The realization was a lifeline, bolstering him amid the swarming sea of  _nothing._ The Force. He could reach the Force. How he could, or why...those things did not matter.  _How_ and  _why_ were luxuries he could do without.

On some level, he knew he could use the Force to manipulate objects and people, but there was nothing and no one else here to manipulate. When he tried to send a pulse of energy to the collar around his neck, his reward was a nasty shock strong enough to send him to his knees.

Coughing and blinking, it was a few minutes before he shook himself out of the daze and stood up, more annoyed than anything else. He prowled the perimeter of the tiny cell again, as if that would make up for his lack of knowledge. But there  _had_ to be something he could do, other than pace uselessly. At last he took a seat on the floor, face turned to the energy-shield, back against the cool, ferrocrete wall of the cell.

_Inhale._

_Exhale._

He relaxed and sank into the Force easily, like it was natural. Pleased, he began to sift through what knowledge he did have. Perhaps he'd come across something he'd overlooked; perhaps there was something to be learned.

At first, there were only shadows. They obscured the corners of his mind, though they also brought relief, because with them came a memory, hidden within...

_Shadow._

Was that...was that his name? It resonated within him, and the Force hummed as if in approval.  _Shadow._ It must be his name. What else would ring so true?

Heartened by the discovery, Shadow concentrated on peering through the shadows, which, though he had a kinship with them, still obscured his mind. He concentrated, but all he found was a massive, stone wall. Curious, Shadow examined the wall in his mind's eye, first with his eyes, then the flats of his hands, smoothing them along the cool stones. It was a solid wall, made of stones and cement of some kind, and there did not appear to be a way to breach it. Shadow mentally stepped back and craned his head up, trying to see if he could scale the thing, but it rose high above his head, seeming to touch a gray, cloudy sky.

Strange.

There was something about this wall, something important, but before he could dwell on it, a new thing filtered into his consciousness. Shadow pulled himself out of his trance and watched as two figures approached the outside of his cell, their white-armored forms tinted red by the energy-shield. He did not feel alarm, only curiosity, but even so, he rose to a standing position.

"Steady now," one of the figures said as he approached the side of the shield. "Don't try anything funny."

Shadow frowned. "Like what?"

He missed the figure's reply, for he was taken by surprise at the sound of his voice. It matched that of the figure's.  _Of course,_  he thought as the energy-shield dropped and the two guards entered. _I'm a clone. Just like them._

More knowledge trickled back into his awareness. He felt a little silly for forgetting such a simple thing. A clone. A soldier. This knowledge reminded him that he was on Kamino, where he'd been trained to fight for the Republic. He did not think he was a prisoner, but otherwise had no idea why he would be in a cell. Perhaps he'd been injured, which was why he'd been brought back to Kamino in the first place.

Two clones entered the cell. Their armor had been painted with gray designs that Shadow thought meant they'd been assigned to this world. He wished he had armor as well; perhaps it would be painted, too, and therefore provide him with another clue about his past.

But neither clone had brought a set of extra gear. Instead, they each carried an electrostaff, though one held a folded piece of black fabric in his free hand. They moved toward him as if he was about to explode.

Having no wish to alarm them, Shadow raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I'm not armed," he tried to joke, "just a little confused. Can you tell me–"

"No," one of them broke in. "We can't."

Annoyance flared within Shadow, and he frowned. "Why not?"

"Because we effing  _can't._ " The fellow chucked the fabric to the floor.

"But  _why_?"

The other clone sighed, the sound almost a hiss through his helmet's mics. "Look, we all have our orders, okay?  _Ours_  are to bring you to Scientist Dai.  _Your_  orders are to get dressed and come with us –  _quietly_. Do you understand?"

 _Scientist Dai._ A Kaminoan. A superior. Though, the name also reminded Shadow of...pain. Bright lights in his eyes. Cold invading his body, gray eyes above his, something beeping...electronics of some kind. More pain, and fear. Lots of fear. Shadow blinked, though there were no lights shining in his eyes and he was not hurting. Not yet. But the mention of Scientist Dai had brought more memories, and they were not good ones.

His heart kicked up several paces and he shook his head, edging back toward the wall. "I don't want to go with you."

The clones exchanged glances, then looked back his way in unison. "You don't have a choice," the second one said, though the words were carefully neutral. "Neither do we. Don't you understand?  _None_  of us have a choice. If you do as you're told, it will go better for you."

"What will?"

The first clone raised his electrostaff. It was not activated, but Shadow still caught a lingering scent of burning ozone. "Kriffing hell, man. We can't say anything more. Just get. The fek. Dressed."

Both clones stepped toward him, staffs raised, blank T-visors fixed on his form, and Shadow gritted his teeth as anger swept through him. Without thinking, he sent a pulse of Force-energy their way, hoping to knock them off their feet...

...but the only outcome was another stinging jolt of electricity through his body, one that sent him back to his knees, hissing in pain as he gripped the fabric they had tossed his way. A body-glove. He'd worn one of these before, many times. The crumb of memory brought him a small measure of calm, and he decided to comply for now, though he had little desire to encounter the long-neck again.

Even stronger, though, was his desire to  _not_ activate the kriffing collar.

Neither guard turned away to give him privacy, but he didn't care. They were clones; there was nothing to hide from one another. He did take a moment to examine the scars on his body, as they spoke of many battles; one, in particular, crossed over his left side. It was a nasty, jagged thing, but he could not remember how he'd gotten it.

Once he was dressed, his wrists were cuffed, and the guards led him through a maze of hallways that did nothing to conjure up any stray memories. Shadow was brought to another small room, though this did not feel like the holding cell he'd been in before. There was an actual door in this room; two doors, actually, one they led him through and another, at the other side. A vibrosword leaned against the wall. The guards shoved him through the first door, but did not follow.

He was alone again, but it was not for long, this time.

"What is your designation?"

The voice was smooth as sea-glass. A Kaminoan. Probably Scientist Dai. Shadow glanced up at the loudspeaker set into the wall above his head. He nearly said "Shadow," but that was incorrect. That was his nickname, one he'd probably given himself...Before. He frowned when he realized he did not know his proper designation.

Shame coursed through him, closely followed by fear. Was his memory loss a result of some injury? "I don't know, sir," he admitted, glancing at the vibrosword. "Can you tell me?"

"Negative. But you have orders."

Shadow exhaled in relief. Orders were good. Orders would combat the chaos within his mind, the blank wall of  _nothing_ that he'd faced. Orders meant he could still serve some purpose. "Sir," he replied, automatically sliding his body into parade-rest.

There was a pause, then, "Take the weapon provided. When the door opens, you are to enter the adjacent room. There is a traitor to the Republic within. You are to immobilize him until you are given further instructions. Do you understand?"

No. Not really. Who was the traitor? Why was Shadow being asked to immobilize him? Something was wrong...

He tried to access the Force, but his nerves made concentration difficult, and he could not focus enough to manage more than a brief brush against the well of energy within him. Shadow took a deep breath and tried to force himself to relax. Panic would do no good. In his efforts to quell the feeling, he began to fill in the gaps of his knowledge, half-understanding his thoughts were borne of pure speculation and a desperation to  _know._ Perhaps he'd encountered the traitor before – maybe the traitor had something to do with his lack of memory! Perhaps he'd been ordered to fight this man before, been injured somehow, and now he was being allowed to continue his mission.

The vibrosword was in his hand before he'd registered that he'd moved toward it. The weight of the weapon was another comfort, reminding him of some distant memory he couldn't recall at the moment. With a flick of his thumb, he activated the blade itself, savoring the hum and the faint yellow glow.

Yellow...

Another memory, but it, too, was faint. Hardly anything at all, just some kind of significance behind the color  _yellow._  Shadow tucked the knowledge away and glanced at the loudspeaker. "Yes, sir. I understand. I'm ready."

The door opened.

There were shadows on the other side, but he was more comfortable with a weapon in his hand and an objective to carry out. The adjacent room was vast, likely a training-room of some kind. He knew without knowing he'd been in a room like this many times, mostly as a cadet, though this one was was not as brightly illuminated as those sessions had been. It only took a moment for Shadow to spot the figure at the other side of the space. A clone, like him.

Strange.

But Shadow had an objective, and this clone was a traitor. He slipped into the training-room and made his way toward the other clone, ensuring that his eyes never left his target. His heart-rate picked up and his brain automatically slid into combat-mode as he assessed his target's position, strengths, and weaknesses. Unarmed, unarmored. Alone. The closer Shadow got, the more he could see that the other clone was confused and frightened, but he didn't dwell on why that was so. He was a traitor, and Shadow had his orders.

The other clone began to backtrack, nearly stumbling over himself in his haste to get away, and Shadow's blood quickened at the prospect of a chase.

But when the traitor spoke, he nearly stopped in surprise. "Stone wall," the traitor-clone said, raising his hands. The word was a question, somehow, and it hit Shadow hard. It reminded him of the wall in his mind, the one he could not see over or breach, and he felt the first stirring of true anger.

What the hell was going on? Who was this clone? How did he know about the wall? Was he...connected to why Shadow could not remember anything? Was he the reason Shadow was on Kamino, trying to piece together his mind?

Shadow tightened his grip on his weapon and did not reply, only continued moving forward. His path was faintly illuminated by the yellow glow of the vibrosword. The traitor-clone backed up into the wall, and cast Shadow another frightened look. Shadow glared at him, daring him to run away. His body buzzed and his heart raced, and he stalked toward the traitor-clone, intent on his objective.

Suddenly, his target seemed to find his voice. The other clone raised his hands and began to babble. "Stone wall. Can you hear me? It's me, Milo. Your  _vohd._ Your brother. Stone wall?"

None of it made any sense. What did this  _Milo_  know of the wall in Shadow's mind? Were they really  _brothers?_ Shadow didn't think so. All clones were "brothers," to some extent, but it was just a term. It didn't really mean anything, any more than " _vohd_ " did.

But still, it was a strange thing for a traitor to call him.

Barely an arm's length away, Shadow paused before the traitor – Milo, if that was his name – and studied the other clone. Though he'd not seen his own face, he knew it matched this man's, though Milo had a full head of hair.

Shadow looked into the other clone's eyes and felt nothing.

Perhaps taking heart in his non-action, Milo continued pleading. "Look, I know you're not feeling...like yourself, but you have to  _listen_  to me. Stone wall."

Why the kriff did he keep  _saying_ that? Shadow could not stop his glare, though he refused to speak to a traitor. Maybe this was a trick of some kind, set up to test his mettle.

"This isn't you," the traitor – Milo – added. "This isn't who you are."

 _How do you know who I am?_ Shadow stared at him, and more doubt trickled through his focus. Milo didn't sound like a traitor. His words rang sincere, and though Shadow was afraid to try and use the Force with the collar still on, he thought Milo was telling the truth. Somehow, he could just tell.

Frustration rolled through Shadow, strong enough to make his eyes prick and water. What the frag was going on? Did this man, Milo, truly know him? And if so, was Shadow a traitor, too, by extension?

Or had the Kaminoan lied to him? Was any of this real?

Either way, how would he know? He didn't even know his real kriffing name.

True panic set in, lashing at his heart and turning his blood to ice, and Shadow fought against it, fought for even the pretense of control. But control slipped out of his grasp. The fragile balance he'd struck was crumbling away, leaving him suspended over a great, yawning chasm of  _nothing._

As if on cue, the Kaminoan's next words echoed in the training-room. "Execute the traitor. Execute unit CT-6396."

Orders gave Shadow a foothold, and he relished his new objective. His panic melted away, replaced with purpose, and he nearly laughed at the other clone's attempt to get away. The fellow had moved pretty fast, but Shadow was faster.

Without thinking, he called on the Force and leaped after Milo. Thankfully, this time he was not shocked by the collar, though he didn't pause to dwell on  _why_. All that mattered was his mission. He landed on top of Milo, knocking the other clone to the floor as hard as he could, hoping to stun his target and make the whole thing go that much quicker.

Though, why he might wish for Milo to have a swift death, he did not know.

Using his knees to hold Milo down, Shadow grabbed the other clone's throat with his free hand, thinking to prevent any struggling before it happened. He was right to do so. Even in the dim light of the room, Shadow could see Milo's face turning purple, and the other clone began to tug at his wrists in a futile effort to free himself. Shadow recognized a familiar panic in Milo's eyes, and tightened his grip on the other clone's neck as he raised the vibrosword to end this.

Strange images slammed into his brain before he knew what had hit him. Other clones, one bald like him, one holding a medic-kit, one with jagged scars across his face. Words and emotions filtered in on the images' heels.  _We're brothers. Stone wall._ Vode _. Don't do this._

Before Shadow could react, another image appeared in his mind, along with an emotion so strong it stole his breath from his body. A woman. Dark hair. Dark eyes. She was smiling up at him in a way that was at once wholly familiar and completely strange, because she looked... _right,_ smiling at him like that, but the emotion he felt from seeing her expression was foreign. All he knew was that it was stronger than he was, stronger even than the Force that he could feel in every nerve and muscle.

More words filtered into his mind, though they seemed to fade away.  _You don't want to do this, Shadow..._

Dazed from the emotion he could not quantify, Shadow pushed all the images aside and focused on what was directly before him. This man, Milo, knew something about him, somehow, but was it even real? Was Milo a traitor? Was the Kaminoan lying to him?

What was real? What was true?

There was too much he didn't understand. All he knew was that he had an objective. Orders were needed to make sense of the chaos, so he gripped them close and prepared to execute this man. Shadow raised the vibrosword and angled the tip of the humming blade for Milo's heart.

When he looked in Milo's eyes again, this time there was confusion and regret, and sorrow. A great deal of sorrow. Whatever he said, whatever was meant by all those images and emotions...Milo knew them to be the truth. It was more certainty than Shadow had felt since he'd opened his eyes, and he knew at once what he had to do.

But the Kaminoan was watching. That was another truth. Shadow understood without knowing how that if he did not follow orders, his own life would be forfeit. Like the Force, that understanding was deeper than bone, ingrained in his very heart.

Indecision struck Shadow again, and this time held him captive. To combat the feeling, he reached within, to the one truth  _he_ knew, the one thing that made sense. The Force.

Inhale. Exhale. Time slowed, and his path was made clear, though he didn't understand how it could be so. How was it possible to weigh one life against another? But, like orders, the Force brought clarity and some measure of control to the chaos, so Shadow trusted the compromise it offered. He relaxed into the Force and allowed it to guide his movements.

Shadow aimed, then thrust the vibrosword home.

It was a good weapon, finely-made and sharp. It bit through Milo's shirt and skin easily, settling into muscle like it belonged there. Milo's hands lifted as if to grab something, but they only caught empty air as he gasped in pain and shock. A bright burst of crimson bubbled from the wound. Shadow took a deep breath and withdrew his blade, hoping it looked like he'd just made a clean kill, and turned away from the fallen clone without a word.

If nothing else, he had to trust the Force.

"You have done well," came another voice, familiar on an instinctive level. "Come here."

Shadow glanced around until he spotted the observation deck where Creon Dai watched. _Creon Dai_. The Kaminoan's full name came back to him the moment he spotted the slender form behind a pile of rubble and an energy-shield, clutching a datapad. His mouth curled in disdain, but he approached obediently, because it was not Creon Dai who had spoken.

The long-neck was tinted red behind the shield and engrossed in the datapad. Beside the Kaminoan was a holo-transmitter, which contained a display of a robed and hooded figure. A Jedi?

"Your designation?" the figure asked.

Shadow fought the urge to wince. "I don't know, sir," he said, dropping his eyes. In the back of his mind, he noted Milo, still lying prone on the floor; a small, careful brush with the Force indicated the other clone was still alive, though barely.

"No matter. You will not need one, from now on." The hooded figure inclined his head. "Do you know who I am?"

"No, sir," Shadow replied. "But I believe you are a Jedi."

A low, delighted laugh echoed in the space between Shadow and the holographic figure. "Indeed, indeed. I am a Jedi Master," the word held a cutting edge, "and you may call me Lord Tyranus."

Relief swam through Shadow's veins. If anyone could bring order to the chaos, it was a Jedi Master. He saluted as sharply as he could. "Yes, sir."

"And since I am a Jedi," Tyranus continued, "what does that mean for you?"

This answer, at least, was easy. "I am to obey your orders without question, sir."

"How do you know this?"

"With respect, sir, all clones know this from our earliest lessons."

There was a pause, then the Jedi nodded to the Kaminoan. "It seems your nanodroids were a success."

"As I knew they would be," Creon Dai replied. "You can see for yourself how obedient the unit is. Surely now you can attest to the value of my research."

Shadow risked a glare at the long-neck, but kept his silence. The Force slithered around his legs, almost anxiously, but he could not pinpoint the reason for the feeling.

After a brief pause, Lord Tyranus spoke again. "Can the clone still access the Force as it could before? I see it still wears the suppressive collar."

"Its midichlorian count–"

But the Jedi Master waved his hand. "No facts and figures, Scientist. I want to see for myself. Deactivate the collar."

A flare of fear leaped from the Kaminoan, and Shadow could not suppress a smirk as Dai's voice wavered. "But–"

"Do it now." It was not a request, and the words, though spoken by a hologram, fell upon the room like so many stones.

Creon took a deep breath and entered a code onto his datapad. Moments later, Shadow's body ignited with sensation, so much stronger than before. At first it was fire, licking up his legs and through his arms, singing through his veins like molten gold, or starlight. Then it was water, swelling around and through him, bringing a kind of energy – power – that he'd never known.

Or had he?

Tucking the vibrosword beneath his arm, Shadow regarded his hands, flexing them as he assessed the renewed wash of power. As quickly as it had come, it faded, though he knew the Force still flowed through him, like a river that had once been held back by a dam.

"How do you feel?" someone asked him.

Shadow blinked at Lord Tyranus' holographic figure. "Better, sir," he said carefully.

"Strong?"

He nodded.

"You have done well, trooper. You have passed the first test. But there will be more."

Shadow saluted. "Yes, sir."

Tyranus looked at Creon. "You have forwarded all of your research to me?"

More fear emanated from the long-neck; either it was stronger now, or Shadow was better able to sense it. The Kaminoan's nictitating membranes blinked several times, but his voice was calm. "Yes–"

But the Jedi cut him off with a shake of his head, glancing at Shadow once more. "Your next orders are to eliminate Creon Dai."

_Finally._

Creon sucked in a breath but Shadow was already moving. The vibrosword fit into his hand perfectly, but he had no use for it. He lunged at the slender, delicate neck of the Kaminoan, the urge to snap it in two all-consuming and familiar, and at last,  _at_   _last_ , his hands tightened around cartilage and bone. Only a little bit of pressure was needed, and he sighed with relief at the snap and tremor of the dying being beneath his palms.

"Good work, trooper," the Jedi Master said. "He was an enemy of the Republic, and you have done a great service."

Shadow let Creon's body drop where he stood. The datapad fell from the Kaminoan's grip and clattered to the floor. "Yes, sir."

Lord Tyranus clasped his hands before him. "You have new orders." Shadow slid into parade-rest and waited, and the holographic figure continued. "You are to eliminate everyone everyone in this facility. All inhabitants of Sector Nine are enemies of the Republic. You are then to proceed to the following coordinates, where you will be given further instructions. If you pass these tests, you will be rewarded."

A series of coordinates flashed across the bottom of the hologram; Shadow memorized them at once, and gave another salute before the transmission ended. Inwardly, he was relieved to have another task, though he kept his features carefully neutral, as befitting a proper soldier of the Republic.

Something stirred behind him. Milo. Shadow hurried to the clone's side, and grimaced at the wound he'd made. But he could do nothing for this man. He considered trying to question Milo, to see what else he knew, but the fellow was too injured; his energy was fading and he would not survive much longer without medical attention. Regret coursed through Shadow once more. He'd tried to save Milo, in his own way. He'd tried to follow the guidance of the Force. But he'd failed.

"I'm sorry," Shadow told the other clone, then he gripped his vibrosword and darted from the room, into the corridor.

It was so bright, it blinded, and he stumbled. But only at first. Once his eyes adjusted, he began to jog along, stretching out with his senses to find his next targets. He came upon the clone guards first. At the sight of him, they dropped into combative poses and raised their electro-staffs, but Shadow ignored the minor threat they presented.

However, he could not ignore the fear in their Force-presences, nor the revulsion.  _As well they should fear you_ , he thought darkly.  _You're not like them. You're not like any clone._ The realization cut him to the quick.

Shadow was not like them, but he could not destroy them any more than he could Milo. The idea repulsed him. He had orders yes, but he could not harm another clone again, and surely these clones meant little in the grand scheme of the galaxy. Or so he told himself. He studied the guards with the Force and with his own eyes, and resigned himself to disobedience.

With hopes of hiding how their presence had affected him, he indicated the room he'd come from. "There's an injured clone in there," he said. "See that he gets medical attention at once."

He made to take off, but one of the guards stopped him with a harried, "Where the kriff do you think you're going?"

Shadow paused, but did not turn. "To complete my objective."

* * *

Assistants. Lab technicians. Maintenance staff. Perhaps two dozen long-necks in total.

Shadow killed them all.

It was quick, at least. He did not relish their deaths as he had Creon's, but he could not have said he didn't take some pleasure in ending their lives. In particular, those in the laboratory – a place that held many unpleasant half-memories for him – were easy to kill. They were young and strong, but could not escape the bite of his blade.

After it was done, he remained in the lab and skimmed his fingertips along the long, metallic table that gleamed beneath the lamps. Pain met him, and anger. Fear, too. The emotions were thick here, and he did not think they were all his own. He shuddered, then stepped over the bodies of the dead long-necks to make for the exit.

Sector Nine was isolated from the rest of Timira City, practically its own little island. With no one but clones left, Shadow didn't think anyone would raise an alarm any time soon. Still, it was better to be safe rather than sorry, so he destroyed the communications relay when he came across the last of the Kaminoans in a control room of some kind.

He considered returning to the clones, but time was of the essence, and technically he was disobeying orders by leaving them alive. But his initial reaction remained firm, and he chose to put them out of his mind and move on. Besides, there was nothing for him here, anyway.

Shadow found the area's single hangar and a small shuttle he could fly solo. Within thirty minutes of gaining his freedom from the collar – though he figured he'd have to try and cut it off later – he'd escaped Kamino's atmosphere. Shadow made his way into black space, and did not look back.

* * *

A/N: Lots of stuff going on. Hopefully "Shadow" reads well. It was tricky to write not only a reconditioned clone, but one who still retains some knowledge of his abilities. The Force has plans for him, but I'm curious to hear your thoughts! :)

Next time: Milo.


	23. Chapter Twenty-Two

A/N: This chapter references Chapter 7 of the vignette collection,  _Born To Die_. (Found on my homepage.)

Lyrics:[ "Not Done Yet," by SOJA, from  _Strength To Survive._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4TZiMvJ65Wc&index=23&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp)

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

_The farther I get away,_ _**  
** _ _The more I hold on;_ _**  
** _ _It's just this feeling I get,_ _**  
** _ _It's like I'm not done yet_ __**.**

_Approximately one month earlier..._

It was a beautiful night on Coraux.

Milo leaned against the dock's railing and inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of the ocean. Even though he'd grown up on Kamino and should have been used to the scent of salt water, the sea smelled different on this world; the salt tang was underwritten with sweet commelina and everlilies, and the air was balmy. If he squinted, he could make out the fins of Corausian porpoises slicing through the waves. A few fishing boats bobbed in the distance, and Coraux's massive rings loomed high above their heads, washing everything in pale, pearly gray.

This world mirrored his contentment. The negotiations had been long and, at times, arduous, but overall Shadow Squad had garnered more resources for the Republic. Or, rather, General Halcyon had done so; Milo and his  _vode_ had mostly acted as the poster-boys of the GAR, standing guard and keeping the provincial leaders safe.

Another successful mission. The only casualty had been Milo's patience, because at times he'd been bored out of his bucket. But he didn't mind, not really.

Especially not now.

He watched the waves, searching for more sea-life. The villa where Shadow Squad had been staying was several klicks outside of the capital city of Numen and close to the shore, so he'd spent a bit of time enjoying the fauna on this world.

 _There_! Silvery ring-light gleamed off of a porpoise's back as it leaped fully from the water, and Milo grinned at the sight.

"For the last kriffing time, I'm  _not_ going to a fekking strip-club."

Crest snorted. "It was a  _joke_ , Trax! Kriff."

Weave's voice broke in wearily. "I don't even think there  _are_ any strip-clubs out here."

"Done much research on the subject,  _vod?_ " Crest asked, and Traxis began to snicker.

Milo glanced beside him, where his brothers were debating how to spend the rare free evening. All of the clones wore their fatigues, though Weave carried a small bag with his datapad and medical supplies, and Milo figured Trax had a few weapons tucked away; neither man was ever without their particular implements if they could help it.

The railing shivered as Weave leaned against it, beside Milo. "You're both incorrigible," the medic said with a sigh before glancing at Milo. "What do  _you_  feel like doing, Mi?"

"Me?" Surprised, Milo turned to his brothers. As the youngest member of the squad, he was often relegated to following their lead. Not that he minded – he was usually happy to be wherever they were – but rarely was he asked this sort of thing. "I dunno...is anyone hungry?"

The others exchanged glances. "I could eat," Crest said slowly, rubbing his chin.

"Me too," Traxis added. "Not much to eat out here in the boonies, though."

Weave's eyes lit up and he withdrew his datapad, tapping out information as he spoke. "Remember when that diplomat's aide suggested the Numen boardwalk? There's supposed to be all kinds of things to do around there – including restaurants."

"That sounds fun," Milo said as the four clones began to make their way to the garage that housed the open-top speeder Shadow Squad had been given use of for this mission. "Do we have enough money?"

Weave patted a pouch at his utility belt. "Discretionary funds, courtesy of General Halcyon."

At this, Crest glanced behind them, toward the villa they'd called HQ these last few days. "Still can't believe that about Kenobi."

Traxis' expression darkened and his boots crunched a little harder on the gravel pathway. "No kidding. A fragging sniper..." He sighed heavily. "At least it was a quick death."

"I know the general and Kenobi were close," Milo said after a beat. "I'm glad she has the captain."

"Me too, Mi," Crest replied.

The four of them were silent a moment. They'd received word via a news story on the HoloNet this afternoon, and Milo well-remembered how stricken his Jedi general had looked upon hearing the news. Though Milo would have liked it if his captain came out with them tonight, it was no surprise that Stonewall had chosen to remain here and keep her company.

He looked up at the stars and the rings, and thought,  _How quickly everything can change._ Nothing was certain, was it? Nothing was written in stone. " _Ni su'cuyi,"_ he said softly. " _Gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum,_ Obi-Wan Kenobi _."_

" _G_ _ar darasuum,_ Obi-Wan Kenobi," the others said in unison. The Mando'a phrase of remembrance was one most clones knew, and it always brought Milo a measure of comfort to say the words. It was a sacred thing, he thought, to keep a memory alive.

* * *

The boardwalk teemed with life. Stretched out to one side of the wide, wooden dock, the ocean glittered beneath Coraux's rings, sprinkled with a rainbow of neon lights from signs across all the different restaurants, clubs and shops in this section of Numen. Dozens of sentients meandered around, engrossed in their conversations and laughter, and enjoying the balmy night.

Once Milo parked the speeder in a public area, the four clones made their way to the boardwalk proper, and Milo found he could not possibly turn his head fast enough to  _see_ everything there was to be seen. Most of Shadow Squad's time on Coraux had been spent in government buildings, and the explosion of civvie life all around him made him a bit dizzy. There was just so much to see, and more to  _do._ He hardly knew where to begin.

"Does anyone see a fekking place to eat in any of that mess?" Traxis asked, scanning the various buildings.

Weave was engrossed in his datapad. "Stand by. I'm trying to find something that hasn't violated any local health codes..."

Crest rolled his eyes and cast Milo a wink. "Come on,  _vode,_ " he said, grabbing Weave and Trax's arms and urging them forward. "Put the 'pads and attitudes away, and let's do some recon."

Milo chuckled and trotted after his brothers.

* * *

As it turned out, Numen was expensive. Most places asked far too much money for what Milo thought of as a simple meal, but eventually the clones were able to find a section of the boardwalk that featured good food – and plenty of it – for a reasonable price.

There was a public seating area surrounded by vendors of all kinds, and it was here that Milo and his brothers took their newly-acquired dinner and settled down to dine under the rings and stars. Milo and Weave set down the trays of roast gornt, collypods and topato fries and began to pass out plates, while Traxis nudged Crest and muttered something to the bald clone. Crest grinned and nodded, and both men darted back toward the vendors.

Milo watched them go. "What're they up to?"

"Who knows?" Weave said as he doled out plates and flatware. "I'm sure we'll find out soon."

Sure enough, by the time Milo and Weave were sitting down to eat, Trax and Crest returned, laden with a small bottle and four plasti-cups of dark, amber liquid. As they took their seats, Weave glanced between them and the bottle, and shook his head.

"Is that whiskey?"

Traxis unscrewed the cap, which, being the size and shape of a small glass, seemed to serve double-duty. "Yep. I was surprised the locals had some Menkooro for sale. Good stuff."

"Do you think that's wise?"

"Eh, maybe not." The scarred clone poured himself a measure of the whiskey and tipped it down his throat. "But it's tasty."

"We're technically on leave," Crest broke in, offering the medic a cup of ale. "Just relax and enjoy life for a change."

Weave took the cup and sipped it once. "I  _am_  relaxed. I just don't want anyone to get hammered. I didn't bring any hangover meds."

Crest sighed. "No one's going to get hammered,  _vod."_ He flashed Weave a grin as Traxis offered him a shot of whiskey, which he immediately drank. "But a little tipsy won't hurt anything, will it?"

Weave gave one of his long-suffering sighs, but offered no argument when the whiskey glass was handed to him.

"Here, Mi." Crest placed a cup in front of Milo, who sniffed its contents warily. "Shasa ale," Crest said when he looked up. "It's delicious. You'll love it."

"But don't drink it now," Traxis broke in as Milo reached for the cup. "Fek, Baldy, you want to make him sick? He hasn't done this before. Here," Traxis added, pouring Milo a much smaller amount of the whiskey in the bottle's cap-glass. "Drink this first. Don't drink ale before liquor – it makes you puke."

Milo accepted, but didn't drink right away. Aside from one or two occasions, he'd not imbibed much in his life. For the most part there hadn't been an opportunity, and when there was time, he and the rest of his squad were on their ship, far away from any alcoholic beverages. He thought he remembered hearing that the general kept something on hand for special occasions, but he'd never investigated.

The whiskey smelled...bad. Sour and sharp all at once, and the scent made his jaw tighten reflexively. But he was not about to back down, especially not with his  _vode_ watching him so carefully, so he held his breath and tipped the whiskey down his throat. He immediately winced at the burning sensation on his tongue and the back of his eyes, but thankfully did not cough or sputter. Instead, he set the glass down and nodded to Traxis, who looked like he was fighting back a smile.

"It's good," Milo said, clearing his throat. "Very...uh...smooth." _That's a word folks in holos use to describe spirits, right?_

Traxis grinned at him in a rare moment of levity. "Want another? It won't kill you."

"It'll make you stronger," Crest broke in, chuckling and reaching for a collypod.

Milo considered, then nodded. Traxis poured him another small measure of whiskey, which went down much easier this time, though his head felt a little fuzzy afterward. He handed Trax the empty glass and dug into his own food, happily accepting the cup of ale that was passed his way.

* * *

After the whiskey's bite, the Shasa ale really  _did_ taste smooth, and Milo discovered a new appreciation for the drink. He had two cups with dinner; it would have been three, but Crest and Traxis were  _very_ insistent that he wait a bit longer before a third cup. They were both really loud about it, too, and Milo counted eight substantially-sized shots between the both of them, plus the ale, which was acquired from a nearby vendor who'd offered the clones a "military discount." That was nice of her. Weave had three shots, but they were all pretty small, and if the medic was on his way to being drunk, he hid it well.

Aside from the faint fuzziness, Milo didn't feel much different from the shot or the ale. Okay, so maybe his steps were a little looser than normal and it was a tiny bit harder to keep his focus than it otherwise would have been, but that was definitely it.

When every bite of food had been eaten, the clones cleaned up. After Weave checked in with the captain, they began to meander around the boardwalk. As the night had progressed, the area swelled with more and more lifeforms, adding a wild sort of vibrancy that Milo hadn't encountered before. There were people everywhere and the scent of cooking food blended with that of the sea. Beneath the constant susurrus of the waves was a thrum of laughter, and there was music coming from somewhere close by.

The boardwalk was full but somehow didn't feel crowded, or perhaps Milo didn't mind the presence of so many other beings. He followed a few paces behind his brothers, craning his head to look at everything he could and searching for the source of the music.

"How're you feeling, Mi?"

Crest's words caught him off-guard, but not as much as the realization that the others had paused and he was about to crash into Traxis. Luckily, Milo skidded to a stop before he made a  _shabla_ fool of himself, and looked at his bald squad-mate. It was odd; usually Weave was the one who was concerned about the other clones' state of being. Not that Crest didn't care, but–

Crest reached out and rapped his knuckles against Milo's forehead. "Hello? Anyone in there?"

Milo shook him off, though the movement was a little sloppy. "Yes! I'm here. Kriff." He sighed and glanced around. "I'm fine, Crest. I just wish I knew where the music was coming from."

"The shiny's tanked," Crest replied, chuckling. "I think the music's in your head,  _vod."_

Milo huffed. "I'm not  _tanked_ , Crest."  _Whatever that means._ "There is definitely music coming from," he made an indeterminate motion ahead, "that way. Can't you hear the drums?"

"He's right," Traxis said, cocking his head to the side. "And look; there's a crowd over there. Well,  _more_ of a crowd. This whole place is a karking crowd. But I can hear music, too."

"Well, we should probably investigate, if that's the case," Weave added in a solemn voice that was belied by his quiet smile.

Without knowing – or caring – quite what his hurry was, Milo began to barrel forward. "Shadow Squad: move out!"

"You heard the man,  _vode,_ " Crest added, a huge grin on his face as he slapped Milo's shoulder. "Let's go."

The closer Milo got to the crowd, the louder the music became. He couldn't define the type, only that it was loud and rollicking, and that it caused many of the audience members to dance. There were drums, of course, which Milo had picked up on first, but once he reached the edge of the crowd and peered through the assembled beings, he caught sight of a six-piece band playing the ever-loving kriff out of their instruments.

There were three horn players, all of differing species. A female Gungan danced in place as she lifted a curving bawoonka; each blow into the throaty instrument resonated within Milo's chest. A massive Devaronian curled his body over his sabriquet, his fingers expertly dancing over the alto horn's metallic cylinder, while his bandmate, a Bith, lifted her own, polished ebonwood faln horn. The bright soprano blended in perfectly with the other layers of melody.

A Pantoran woman with long, burgundy hair looped in elegant braids stood at the center of the band, strumming a Hapan lute and singing in a language Milo didn't immediately recognize, while beside her, an Ithorian leaned over a theremin. The energy strings of the theremin seemed to growl, but again, the sound fit with the other instruments, blending rather than conquering.

But what really drew his attention – and held it – was the percussion section, or what there was of it. Several karmova drums in varying shapes and sizes were lashed together at the group's center, and the Nautolan drummer slammed not only her palms and fingers against the domed hide-tops, but occasionally the tips of her  _lekku_  as well, creating a rippling staccato that underscored the other musicians. There were a  _lot_ of drums and only one of her, so Milo was thoroughly impressed with her skill.

Not until the song had ended and the crowd burst into applause did Milo realize he'd found his way to the front. As he clapped, he glanced around for his  _vode;_ Crest was right beside him, while Trax and Weave had elected to hang back along the boardwalk railing, a few meters away.

" _Shab_ , they're really good," Crest said as the band readied themselves to play another song. "Put us to shame, that's for sure."

Too entranced to speak, Milo only nodded.

The Pantoran female with the lute stepped forward, and swept her gaze across the assembled crowd before landing on Milo. She flashed him a wink that made his face get warm, then began to strum her lute once more before she broke into song.

He wouldn't remember the words later, only that the music made him want to  _move._ Except, he had never danced before – at least not in the presence of anyone else – and didn't know how. He shot a glance at Weave and Trax at the sidelines, both of whom had their cups of ale well in hand and were nodding along to the rhythm. Crest, by contrast, was bobbing his head a bit, enough to blend in with the crowd but not so much that he was actually  _dancing._

Though his feet itched, Milo figured he'd look a  _shabla_ fool if he tried to dance, so he held his cup of ale and bobbed his head like Crest was doing. He tapped his feet as well to add a little more motion, hoping it would be a sort of compromise for the energetic feeling that rushed through his body.

The music swelled, strengthened, and for a little while Milo got lost in its current, so it was a shock when he felt a gentle touch on his shoulder. When he looked up – or, rather, down – he was met with a pair of brown eyes that were attached to a very pretty Human woman with skin the color of good caf and coils of dark hair. Inexplicably, she was smiling at him.

"Want to dance?" she shouted, as the music was pretty loud.

"I don't know how."

But her smile only widened. "Can you pretend you do?"

He had to laugh at this, though inwardly he was marveling at the smoothness of her cheeks and the way they bunched up when she smiled. Her face was round – as were other parts of her, though he didn't let his gaze stray too far – and she had a very nice smile.

In the back of his mind, he knew that he was  _probably_ a little drunk, but he decided he didn't care right now. There was nothing wrong with dancing – or trying to – and at the worst he'd only make himself look foolish in front of a pretty girl. Well, it wouldn't be the first time, and probably not the last.

So Milo nodded. "Sure."

He went to take another sip of his ale, but the liquid was gone. Before he could do anything about it, though, she plucked the empty cup from his hand and tossed it in a nearby trash can, then placed his hands on her waist, rested her hands on his shoulders, began to dance. Well,  _she_ danced; Milo sort of tried to move with the music and not fall over or make a kark of himself. But it was okay. She kept smiling at him, even when he accidentally stepped on her toes. Just the one time, though, and he apologized profusely.

There didn't appear to be a rhyme or reason to the way she danced; the only goal seemed to be to move with the music, and she achieved that goal without, to Milo's knowledge, much effort. Her hips and shoulders swayed in time with the lilting beat, and her skirt spun around her legs when she twirled. At one point she grabbed his hand and said, "Hang on," which he did. She twirled away from him, pulling on his hand when his reach was extended all the way, then twirled back toward him, moving along the length of his arm. She finished pressed up close to his chest, eyes alight and smile wide as she looked up at him, as if she was oblivious to the furious pace of his heart.

The song ended but another was on its heels, and the dancing hardly stopped. The crowd loved it, whistling and hollering for more, and Milo's new friend joined them. Milo noted that Crest had slipped off to chat up an Iridonian female, but Trax and Weave were still in place; he caught Trax's eye, and the scarred clone gave him a discreet "well-done" nod, which was encouraging, as Milo was in uncharted territory with this dancing stuff.

When there was a break in the music, he looked back at his dance partner, who'd broken the link of their hands to fan herself, though she was grinning. "You're doing a great job pretending," she said in Basic, though he couldn't place her accent. "What's your name?"

"Milo. And thanks; it's my first time. What's yours?"

She bit her lower lip, which was full and looked soft. "Beryl."

Fek, she was pretty; he'd never danced with a pretty girl before. He rather liked it, and couldn't help but smile at her. "Nice to meet you, Beryl."

"You too, Milo."

Another song kicked up, and Milo offered her his hand without quite knowing why; it just felt like the right thing to do. "I think I'm getting the hang of it. Care to risk another dance?"

"With you?" She flashed him that smile again, and placed her hand in his. "Definitely."

* * *

When all was said and done, Milo had no clue how long he danced with Beryl. All he really cared about was that she seemed pleased the entire time, that he did indeed figure out how to look passably competent at dancing, and that she kissed his cheek when he offered to buy her an ale, though after he offered he immediately had to find Weave, who had all the credits. That was kind of embarrassing, but she didn't seem to mind.

They talked a little bit, mostly in-between songs and about nothing particularly important. If she knew he was a clone, she made no mention of it, and he never learned her last name. The thought did occur to him that she was a Sep or something unpleasant, come to undermine all the work Shadow Squad had done, but it was unlikely that he was important enough to warrant such a targeted attack.

Once the music ended and the band began to break down their equipment, it was time to part ways. As the crowd began to disperse, he caught Weave's eyes above the crowd; his  _vod_ jerked his head in an unspoken inquiry:  _Ready to leave?_ Except the movement was a little clumsy, and Milo wondered how much ale the medic had consumed. Force knew he'd had a few more cups. Dancing was thirsty work.

Milo glanced down at Beryl, feeling an odd sense of regret along with his pleasure at the night's events. "Thank you for all the dances," he told her, "but my brothers and I need to bang out."

Her dark eyes widened. "You need to do...what now? With who?"

Milo indicated Crest, Trax and Weave, talking amongst themselves a few meters away. Odd; whenever he took too long, one of them was usually all over him to  _get going, shiny._ But not now. Now, they all hung back and pointedly did not look in his direction.  _Huh. Weird._

He looked back at Beryl. "My squad-mates and I need to leave. We're heading offworld really early tomorrow."

"Oh." Her lips sank into a faint frown, though she seemed to recover almost at once, and smiled at him warmly. "I had a lot of fun, Milo."

"Me too."

She bit her lip again, glanced around, then gestured him to come closer, as if she was about to whisper in his ear. When he obliged and bent his head, Beryl placed a soft, lingering kiss on the side of his mouth. "Safe travels," she said when she pulled back.

For a moment he only stared, because his mind had blanked with the kiss. Thankfully he recovered quickly, and offered her a smile. "You too."

When he approached his  _vode,_ Weave gave him a curious look. "Ready to leave?"

"We don't have to just yet if you don't want to, Mi," Crest added, leaning against the boardwalk railing. "If you have some unfinished business..."

Milo glanced back at the quickly disseminating crowd; Beryl was walking away, rejoining a group of other women. When she reached them, she cast a final look in his direction, and he must have been pretty drunk because he swore she looked like she was about to run toward him.

Once she'd turned away again, Milo shook his head and looked at his brothers. "Nah, I'm good."

Traxis chuckled and gave him a playful punch on his arm. "Always leave 'em wanting more. Didn't know you had it in you,  _vod."_

"I kriffing told you," Crest said, slapping Milo's back as the four clones began to head toward the boardwalk's exit. "Mi's a regular heartbreaker. Did you see the way she looked back at him?"

"What do you mean?" Milo asked.

"She wanted you to charge up her loading ramp," Crest replied sagely.

Heat flooded Milo's face as he thought over the entire encounter. "Uh...no, I don't think–"

"Baldy's right," Traxis broke in, hopping down the wooden steps that led away from the boardwalk and toward the speeder-lot. "She wanted to get a hold of your deece. I could see it in her eyes."

"How do you know? You don't even  _like_ women," Milo scoffed, though his face grew even hotter at Trax's words.

His scarred brother raised an eyebrow. " _Some_  looks are universal, shiny."

Milo glanced at Weave, whose neutral, balanced perspective could always be called upon. But the medic only shrugged. "They're right, Mi. Plus, she couldn't keep her hands off of you. That was pretty telling in and of itself."

"Well,  _shab_ ," Milo said, glancing behind him where the boardwalk was continuing to empty. Of course there was no sign of Beryl. "I had no idea."

He winced, waiting for the inevitable teasing, but Crest only slung an arm around his neck as their boots crunched across the gravel lot. "Ah, it's okay,  _vod_. We've all been there."

Weave patted Milo's arm affectionately. "At least next time you'll know know what to look for."

* * *

After a few stumbling minutes, they reached the speeder. By now, the lot was pretty empty, allowing the sound of the waves to reach Milo's ears, even here, where he could not see the ocean. The things he  _could_ see – the sky, the rings and stars, and his brothers – were blurry and a little spinny, which did not bode well for any sort of piloting. He and his squad-mates stood around the vehicle for a moment before Milo glanced at Weave.

"I probably shouldn't drive."

The medic winced and rubbed his head. "Hmm...same here."

Both of them looked at Traxis, who snorted and leaned against the speeder's side. "No fekking way am I driving anywhere right now."

Weave sighed. "Crest...how about you?"

In response, the bald clone blew a raspberry and immediately started chuckling, which was apparently enough of an answer for the medic. Weave gave another, deeper sigh and dug through his pocket for his comlink.

"You're going to call Stonewall?" Milo asked.

"Unless you have a better idea."

The four exchanged looks, and Milo really did try to think of something else, because all the talk of "loading ramps" and "deeces" and such made him think that the captain and general most likely did not want to be interrupted, whatever they were doing. But it was a long slog back to the villa, and would be even longer if no one could manage to walk a straight line.

Crest's mouth opened, then snapped shut as he tapped his head. "Nothing but dirty jokes in here right now." Traxis sighed loudly and the bald clone grinned at him. "Oh, like you're so surprised."

"No, but for fek's sake,  _please_  effing spare us," Traxis replied, rolling his eyes.

Weave shushed them all and entered a code into his comlink, and, after a few, long moments, the captain's voice filtered in the space between them, somehow totally authoritative even as he seemed to fight back a yawn. "Sitrep?"

"Milo almost got laid!" Crest broke in, and he and Trax immediately doubled over in hysterics.

"Guys...shut up!" Milo replied, flushing even as he laughed. He looked at the comlink. "Captain, they're exaggerating. It was just a couple dances. I don't know if she really did want to touch my deece or not."

Stonewall's reply was, if anything, amused. "It sounds like you had fun, Mi. Where are you now?"

"Uh..." Crest and Trax were still guffawing, so Milo looked around, searching for a sign or something, but couldn't see any sort of location marker.

Weave, though, always had his nunas in order. "It's at the Numen boardwalk," he said calmly, even though his words slurred just a bit and he appeared to be biting back a chuckle. "I'll send my comlink's coordinates to you,"

"Sit tight," Stonewall replied easily. "Kali and I will be there in a few minutes."

"Sir,  _yessir_ ," Crest called, which immediately caused the four of them – even Weave – to dissolve into laughter, though Milo had no clue why it was so kriffing funny.

* * *

When the captain and general pulled up in the other speeder – Shadow Squad had been given use of two – Milo and his squad-mates were in various states of disarray.

Traxis, Crest and Weave had elected to sit in the speeder. Traxis sat up in the rear, passenger-side seat, hands folded over his stomach, snoring loud enough to wake the dead on Teth. Crest was sprawled out across the back seats, calves resting on Traxis' knees, head leaning against the door. Also snoring, though not quite as loudly as his scarred brother. Weave was in the passenger seat, naturally perusing his datapad, though what he was researching at this hour, in  _this_ state, was beyond Milo's comprehension.

Having no wish to be anywhere near the pilot's seat if he was drunk, Milo lay on the speeder's elongated nose, staring up at the rings. Kriff, it was nice in this part of the planet. Milo inhaled the salt-ocean smell again and sighed happily. The pearly gray rings that circled Coraux cast a fair amount of reflected light, obscuring all but the brightest stars, but Milo could still make out some systems he recognized. He idly wondered what Beryl was doing, but almost immediately forgot to think of her any more, though the memory of her smile lingered pleasantly in the back of his mind.

The faint thrum of a vehicle engine made him sit up, and he watched the speeder's lights shine across the gravel as his officers pulled into the speeder-lot. Ugh, they were terribly bright; he squinted and shielded his eyes from the beams before they dimmed. The new speeder's engines were cut off, and the captain and Jedi general stepped out. Neither wore their usual mission gear; Stonewall had on his fatigues, while General Halcyon wore her normal leggings paired with one of the captain's fatigue shirts. They both looked a bit sleepy, but thankfully not annoyed.

Milo slid off the speeder's nose and offered a less-than-formal salute. "Thanks for coming," he said, wondering why his officers looked like they were fighting back laughs. "We weren't in any shape to drive."

The general smiled at him. "Don't worry about it, Mi. I'm glad you didn't try to drive if you're hammered."

Milo's face heated. "I'm not..."

He trailed off at a knowing look from Stonewall, and sighed.

The captain approached the speeder, where Weave had finally fallen asleep, datapad in hand, chin tucked into his chest. With all three of them out cold, the mood was relaxed. Actually, Milo had to fight back a yawn...

Stonewall glanced at the Jedi. "I almost hate to wake them up."

"I know," she replied, grinning. "They look so innocent, don't they?"

"I wouldn't go quite that far."

She laughed lightly, then thumbed the direction of the speeder she and the captain had brought. It was smaller, only able to seat a pilot and one passenger. "I'll take Mi back; you take the guys."

Stonewall nodded, then, to Milo's muddled amusement, took a few steps back to her so he could murmur something in her ear. Normally Milo didn't watch these sorts of displays – he felt rather like he was intruding on a private moment – but maybe he  _was_ drunk, for he didn't look away. He watched the captain kiss the general's cheek, then squeeze her hand before he moved back to the speeder that held the rest of Shadow Squad. In that moment, when Stonewall looked down at the dark-haired woman, Milo saw it in his eyes.

Love.

It was as if the weight of the feeling moved through him for one moment, though brief, and his breath caught. He didn't know why it was so; he knew his captain and general loved each other. He didn't know why witnessing this small moment had the impact it did.

 _Yeah_ , he thought as the captain bid him goodnight for now, and he followed General Halcyon to the speeder. _I must be hammered_. Or, as Crest had put it, tanked.

Soon enough they were skimming through the now-empty streets, Stonewall and the others perhaps ten meters behind. Milo leaned back in his seat and shut his eyes to better savor the cool kiss of wind on his face, though in his mind's-eye he could still see the rings.

"I'm sorry, General," he said suddenly, looking at his Jedi.

She blinked a few times, like she was clearing her head or reminding herself to pay attention. "It's not a problem, Mi. We didn't want you to worry about driving."

He shook his head. "About General Kenobi."

"Oh." She looked away from him, toward the shoreline the road skimmed. "Me too."

Milo felt foolish for reminding her; she'd looked happy when she and Stonewall had arrived, and now her hands gripped the steering yoke enough to whiten her knuckles. But he couldn't take back what had been done, so he tried to make the next few minutes a little better.

"I'm going to add his name to the remembrance I say every day." He paused, then added, "Maybe you should, too."

He was gratified to see a half-smile cross her face, though she did not look his way. "Maybe I will."

"Do you remember the words?"

She did not answer immediately, and he started to wonder if he'd have to teach her the Mando'a phrase again, but then she said, carefully, but with a flawless accent, " _Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum..."_

The words trailed off, but Milo took over. " _Gar darasuum,_ Obi-Wan Kenobi."

" _Gar darasuum,_ Obi-Wan Kenobi." Her voice was a soft echo of his.

Milo could not help but smile at her; he'd taught her that phrase, and it irrationally pleased him that she'd remembered. "It won't make you feel any better," he told her, leaning back into his seat, as his head was starting to feel a little heavy. The wind was cool and comforting, too, and the vibration of the vehicle was relaxing. He was safe here. "At least not for a while. But it will, one day."

"One day," she repeated, sighing.

His eyes drifted shut, lulled by the gentle thrum of the speeder engine. "Hopefully soon."

* * *

_Present day, on Kamino..._

More than anything else, Milo was confused, and he wished it weren't so. Being confused like this – about everything – made him feel like a shiny again, which he wasn't. But he couldn't help his confusion any more than he could make his lungs work properly, or stop the weirdly shadowed room from spinning. Kriff, he hardly knew up from down right now; how was he supposed to know what had happened to Stonewall?

Voices drifted through the shadows, though some were more familiar than others. "How do you feel?"

 _Not great,_ he wanted to say, but someone else answered for him. "Better, sir."

Well, that was wrong.

"Strong?"

Not even a little.

Milo tried to take another breath, but something pulled sharply on the place where his arm and shoulder met, beneath his collarbone, and it was difficult to get a deep lungful of air. He did not know how badly he was bleeding – probably a lot – but could not find the strength to move his body to check; even if he'd had a medkit on hand, he couldn't have sat up on his own. Maybe if he'd had a little help...

The first speaker said something else, and Milo tried to distract himself by thinking over who this person was. It was a male voice, refined, though tinny in the way that holographic transmissions made folks sound. It sounded like it belonged to someone older; refined and smooth, but somehow still leaving him with the uncomfortable sensation of a sharpened fingernail tracing up his spine.

The speaker said something else, and a third voice reached Milo. This one he remembered well-enough as the Kaminoan, Creon Dai.  _Shabuir,_ Milo thought darkly, then he made the mistake of trying to take a deep breath.

Pain ripped through him, emanating from the tight place near his shoulder, and his eyes stung at the force of it. It hurt to think, so he hardly noticed the sounds of a scuffle from a few paces off, where Not-Stonewall had gone to speak to the long-neck and the hologram. It hurt to think and breathe, and Milo nearly cried out...but something bade him keep still and silent. Perhaps it was a sense of self-preservation, for somehow he knew that if he made a sound, he would be killed in earnest.

That was an odd thing to think. Not-Stonewall had stuck a vibrosword through him; Milo  _should_ be dead. But he wasn't. Why?

The hologram spoke again, but Milo was distracted by the puzzle. Why had Not-Stonewall not-killed him? Surely he didn't miss. Even if he had been reconditioned, Stonewall had always been a great shot. Milo was better, sure, but he was a sniper. He was  _supposed_  to be better. But the captain was the next-best shot out of the entire squad, and in any case, no clone worth his weight in blasters would miss striking an enemy mere inches from his face.

Which meant...

Milo sucked in a breath as the realization swept over him, though he immediately regretted doing so.  _Ow, fek!_

It was only because he knew what to listen for that he heard Not-Stonewall's footsteps pausing beside him a beat later. Not-Stonewall knelt, but did not touch Milo, who dearly wished he could make his kriffing voice work. But no. He couldn't even convince his eyes to fully open, and tried to set aside the feeling that he'd failed, somehow.

Not-Stonewall's voice brushed against him, gently. "I'm sorry."

Then he was gone.

 _I'm sorry, too,_ vod _,_ Milo thought.

Everything hurt. Milo was alone and he was going to die here. That was an unpleasant realization, but he was a soldier. He'd been trained to face death every day, so today wasn't that much different, except all that training was finally paying off. Besides, there was something oddly satisfying about happening upon the inevitable.

But he had regrets. Stonewall was alive, in some capacity, but the odds of him remembering Kalinda without Milo's help were slim. Would he ever know his child? That thought made Milo's eyes sting again. Stonewall's kid would grow up without a  _buir._ It wasn't fair. And Kalinda – no, she was no longer "general" to him – wouldn't have the man she loved. She'd have to raise their baby on her own. Well, his  _vode_ would help, but it wouldn't be the same.

If only there was something he could do to  _help_  other than lie here, waiting to die.

The sound of boots against the floor caught his attention, and the next thing he knew, someone was prying his eyes open, enough so he could see two T-visors were looking down at him. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but had a feeling they were talking about him. Before his eyes closed again he caught his reflection in one of their buckets, and absently noted that the floor beneath him was painted crimson.

Suddenly, one of the clones ripped off his helmet. "Milo?" he said, placing a hand on Milo's neck. "Can you hear me? It's Halligan."

Reluctantly, Milo forced his eyes to open. Halligan was bald, like Crest, but he had a scar on his chin. It looked fresh, though, like he'd cut himself shaving. Milo had never seen Halligan without his bucket before, and he wished the circumstances were different.

At Milo's look, Halligan sighed and glanced at the other clone, who must surely be Ward. "We shouldn't move him. We'll have to bring Cobble here."

"What about–"

But Halligan shook his head. "He's beyond us."

"What the fek did he do to Dai?" Ward asked, pointing across the room. "Do you see–?"

"I don't know, and I don't care," Halligan replied darkly. "He's dead. With any luck, the other long-necks will follow."

Ward's voice was grim. "Yeah. I saw the look in his eyes. But why did he leave Milo alive? He was reconditioned."

Halligan let out a breath, but his voice had that overly-calm tone that indicated he was trying not to lose his patience. Milo had heard others use it for him many times. "We can't worry about that now. Go get Cobble, and any medkits you can find. I'll stay with Milo and try to keep him conscious."

"Right." More footsteps, moving away this time.

There was a pause, then Halligan said his name again.

Milo blinked once, inwardly annoyed with the effort it took to keep his eyes open. Much of the pain was receding, drawn to some other place like a tide, though his chest still felt tight and he was growing more tired by the moment. He wished he could go to sleep, but had the niggling feeling that if he did, he'd never wake up. But he was so tired.

"Milo. Look at me."

Now, really, this wasn't fair. Halligan had been nothing but a jerk;  _now_  he wanted cooperation? Milo wanted to shake his head and frown, but couldn't find the strength. Instead, he sank a little deeper into almost-but-not-quite-sleep.

Until someone tapped his cheek. "Come on, Milo. Don't leave like this. Too many of you leave like this."

 _Don't be silly,_  Milo wanted to tell the guard.  _I never really thought I'd leave here any other way. How's that for shiny?_

He took a deep breath out of habit. Pain met him, though it was distant now. Mostly he was just tired. Never had he been so tired. Plus, it was growing a little too cool in here, but he was too exhausted to shiver.

Then Halligan looked up. "Cobble?"

"Cobble," came a steady reply. Halligan moved out of the way, but was immediately replaced by another clone. Milo didn't open his eyes until he felt the sting of a hypo in his neck; when the languid haze of painkillers swept through him, he wanted to laugh. He wasn't  _in_ pain any more. Maybe Cobble  _was_  crazy.

Someone began to cut away his fatigues; the too-cool air hit his chest a few moments later, and winced as something very cold was pressed to his shoulder, where Not-Stonewall had stuck him with the vibrosword. The sickly-sweet scent of bacta made Milo's nose wrinkle involuntarily. Despite the painkillers, the wound flared to life at the touch of the healing substance, so cold it burned. Milo's body jerked and he cried out because he couldn't help it.

"Cobble," the clone said, the word more of an annoyed grunt than anything else.

Immediately, Milo felt a sudden pressure at his temple, like hands placed on his skin, and suddenly there was something sort of soft beneath his head. "Hold still, Milo _,_ " a clone voice said. "I know it hurts, but you have to hold still."

Weird. It was a young voice. Not Cobble's, or Halligan's, or...

Levy.

Milo's eyes heated again, and he was suddenly so kriffing proud he thought he would burst. He sure as heck didn't care that Ward and Halligan, and maybe someone else, were holding his arms and legs while Cobble did whatever he was doing to the wound.

"Lev..." he managed to croak, though his  _shabla_ eyes wouldn't open.

He heard a small, soft laugh. "It's okay,  _vod_ ," Levy said again, hugging Milo's head closer. "You're going to be okay."

Suddenly the pain didn't matter, any more than Milo's own current predicament. Levy  _spoke_ to him. Whatever trauma had made the cadet stop speaking had faded away, at least for now. Lev was going to be okay. Milo thought he would burst open with sheer happiness and fierce, focused pride. Levy could speak. Anything was possible.

So while he was held in place by those who'd held him captive, tended to by a crazy-person and comforted by a boy who'd only just found his voice, Milo decided to test his own boundaries. Really, what did he have to lose?

As he'd done before, the first time he'd felt Stonewall speak to him through the Force, he tried to focus on the presences of the ones he wanted to speak to, though he knew it was probably hopeless, in part because they were all so far away.

Milo took a deep breath, but thanks to whatever Cobble was doing, this breath brought him no pain. He took another, and another. He reached within himself, searching through the memories Stonewall had given him. Kalinda's face bubbled to the surface of his mind; oddly, he felt a strong emotion for her, but it was sort of distant, like he was simply holding it out to her as one would offer a glass of water. He was simply a vessel for the feeling; he did not actually feel romantic love for her, not like Stonewall did, though he was starting to understand he loved her in a different way. Milo was only the keeper of these memories, and he hoped with everything he was it was only a temporary state of being.

Within those memories was a thread, bright-gold in his mind's eye, though it was fragile, barely a filament. But it was something, and Milo could see its path enough to understand it led to Kalinda. He took another breath and allowed himself to sink into the memory of Stonewall's love for the Jedi, and hoped it would be enough. He reached along the thread, mentally pulling himself along with great care, lest he cause it to snap, until he thought he saw a glimmer ahead, like a distant star.

It was her, he knew it.

He also knew the moment she became aware of him; her attention rose, like a porpoise fin breaching the surface of the sea, and he took another breath. Looking at her in this way was akin to peering through the ocean, too. He could see, recognize, but no more. There was no way he could communicate with her as Stonewall had done with him. Milo was not Force-sensitive, nor did he really know what he was doing other than following trails that had been left imprinted in the memories he now stored. But he gave it his best shot.

As he did, he caught wind of other threads, too, and he worked to reach them because he had to  _try._

Meanwhile, Cobble worked over him with a medic's knowing touch; Weave would probably have approved.

Ward and Halligan were gruff, but held him in place, doing what needed to be done; Milo thought Traxis would have done the same. Whatever it took to help.

Levy called him  _vod_ again, and Milo smiled inwardly, thinking of Crest, who always knew how to cheer him up as surely as he knew how to annoy.

His brothers' threads were dim, too, but they were there. Milo was selfish, and took a split-second to marvel at the mystery of it all. Was this how all the Jedi lived? Connected to each other with every breath?

Of them all, only Kalinda's awareness touched his back, and then it was just for a moment. Just as Stonewall's had done.  _Milo?_

 _Help,_  he thought, putting as much urgency as he could into the message. It was not nearly enough to convey what he wanted, but such was, he figured, one of the pitfalls of this sort of communication.

Help. It was what he wanted and what he'd tried to do. He hoped it would be enough to reach across the stars, to the ones he loved.

* * *

A/N: The original concept I started with had Stonewall/Shadow actually killing Milo, but...I couldn't do it. Why? The short answer is that I wanted to see what Milo could become. In my mind, he represents endless possibilities, and it felt wrong to take those away from him in this story.

Mando'a translation of remembrance, (according to Wookieepedia):

_Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'ady, ni partayli, gar darasuum._

I'm still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal.

Next time: back with the remainder of Shadow Squad.


	24. Chapter Twenty-Three

Lyrics: ["Train Song," by Feist & Ben Gibbard, from _Dark Was the Night._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GyyOQmlvuLw&index=24&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp)

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

_It's so many miles and so long since I've left you,_

_Don't even know what I'll find when I get to you._

_But suddenly now, I know where I belong._

_It's many hundred miles and it won't be long._

_Meanwhile..._

She lay on the bunk, unmoving, unseeing. Her awareness was still stretched out through the Force, but it drifted erratically, like a fishing line that had severed, now buffeted by wild ocean currents. Each breath was shallow and her heartbeat was sluggish and slow, as if her body wasn't quite sure how to function.

If only her mind could follow suit.

Stonewall was dead.

As much as she wanted to shut off the thought, Kali could not ignore this reality. She could not pretend otherwise, nor distract herself with thoughts of what could happen if she only  _tried..._

The worst had come to pass and she did not know what to do next.

Kali squeezed her eyes shut.  _I can't do this_

She curled in on herself, wrapping her hands around her stomach and half-wishing she could sleep. If she slept, maybe she'd wake up and this would be a terrible dream. Maybe she'd wake up to a warm, solid body, breathing softly in bed beside her.

But when her eyes opened, she was alone. Stonewall was dead. He would never see another sunrise, never laugh with his brothers or give her that exasperated, loving look he did so well. Their child would never know his or her father's bright spirit.

It was not sorrow that engulfed Kali, though sorrow was at the root of the grief that took hold of her spirit. But sorrow, grief, the ache of loss...those things were too small to encompass the yawning emptiness in her heart that Stonewall had filled. It swelled within her, pushing out all other things, until she was going to burst.

She had to leave the cabin at some point; Stonewall's brothers deserved to know the truth, but she could not find the strength to move. Heavy with the weight of what had been lost, her eyes closed, and Kali sank further into despair.

Until something caught at the edges of her awareness. It was faint, like something had tugged the other end of the fishing line she held between her fingers, but it was real. Her eyes opened but her focus was inward, and fragile hope fluttered in her chest as she reached along the thread that had bound her to Stonewall. Never had she wanted so much to be wrong.

Using every iota of her abilities, Kali followed the thread until she reached its source, but whom she found was not whom she expected.

_Milo?_

It was the youngest member of Shadow Squad, somehow. All of the guys felt different to her in the Force, so she recognized Milo's presence at once. But where he normally felt bright and sparkling to her, his presence was dim, shot through with exhaustion and grief, and his spirit was torn and frayed. She knew when he recognized her, though, for he gave the equivalent of a sharp inhale, and replied:

_Help._

One idea, barely felt, like a last gasp before sinking beneath the surface of the sea. One idea, and his presence faded from her mind completely, though the thread between them did not break.

Milo was alive, at least for now. Renewed determination washed through Kali as she slowly pulled herself out of her trance, only to realize her heartbeat had quickened. Milo was alive, and he needed her help. And by the kriffing Force above, within and beyond, she was going to give it to him.

She'd failed her husband, but she would not fail her brother. Heart pounding, Kali sat up and bounded for the cabin door.

* * *

_Moments ago..._

Outwardly, Traxis studied the array of controls before him, but his attention was not fully upon them. Though it should have been. However, his eyes were drawn, consistently, to the coral-skinned Twi'lek sitting calmly at the helm, leaning back in his seat, gazing at the stars. No, Traxis could not stop himself from surreptitiously studying Ares Tabora, nor from wondering...

"Something on your mind, my friend?" Ares' lilting accent caught the clone off guard, and Traxis immediately scowled, mostly to cover up his embarrassment at being caught staring.

"Just getting familiar with the turret-controls, in case we get into another  _shabla_  skirmish."

Ares' mouth tugged in a half-smile, a crooked smile, and his eyes gleamed with amusement. "Are you certain you need to? You, ah, handled yourself quite well back there."

"I can handle a lot," Trax replied, and he could not stop himself from adding, "Care to find out how much?"

The half-smile faded and Ares' brow furrowed. "We have discussed this, have we not?"

Chagrin swept through Traxis, though he masked it with another, deeper scowl, and a grunt of acknowledgment. "Yeah, sorry. Thought you might've changed your mind."

Undeterred by Trax's gruff nature, the Twi'lek continued. "I have not changed my mind. I do not require... _that_  sort of payment from you."

Furious and humiliated, again, and only with himself, Traxis got to his feet. He was supposed to keep an eye on Tabora, but clearly he was karking it all up and needed to find another way to spend his time.

"Whatever you effing want," he said, moving for the cockpit door. It hissed open automatically, but he did not step through, because he felt...something weird.

He had no way to explain or quantify the feeling, other than it was almost like being tapped on the shoulder, except there was no physical sensation. It was as if someone, somewhere, had tried to get his attention, but when he whirled back to the cockpit, all he saw was Ares, watching him curiously.

"Traxis? Are you well?"

"I..." The reply died in his throat, because he felt...something else. Like a mic hooked up to his kriffing brain, he felt, heard, and recognized one thought:  _Help._

But that was not what made him stagger into the bulkhead, though it was a strange feeling. No, it was the bearer of the thought, the man who Traxis would recognize in any form. Milo.

Somehow, Traxis knew it was his younger  _vod_ who had called him, but that was the only thing he  _did_  know about the situation. How Milo had done so, or how Traxis had even heard such a thing...those were mysteries. The call itself was faint and faded immediately, and had Traxis not already known one clone who'd done the impossible and gotten use of the Force, he would have ignored the feeling or chalked it up to stress and the four cups of caf he'd had this morning.

"Traxis?" A strong, slender hand touched his shoulder; he looked up into a pair of warm brown eyes flecked with gold. "What is it?"

Traxis winced and rubbed his forehead. As quickly as the strange, foreign feeling had come, it was gone, but memories of Milo lingered in his mind. "I don't know."

"You look like you've just seen a ghost."

The scarred clone shrugged away from Ares' touch and stepped over the threshold, thinking he had to find Kali at once.  _A ghost_. But that would mean...

No. He would not think of it. He had to find his Jedi. "I  _don't_  fekking know," he said again, and hurried away.

* * *

There was no kriffing way Crest was going to hang out with Weave in the lounge and listen to the Padawan get her  _shebs_ chewed out by General Tallis, so he'd quickly made his way out of the lounge to do a little recon.

Once he crossed the cargo hold, weaving his way through a few crates of supplies, plus the items Shadow Squad had brought, he slipped into the little kitchenette that served as the galley. It was about the same size as the lounge, barely over a few square meters. All of the appliances were neatly tucked into the counters and walls; he spotted a conservator, percolator, nanowave, food and water reclamation units, plus a sanitizer. A small prep-table with folding stools fitted to its sides stood in the center of the room, and a brief investigation revealed that Tabora had a good supply of rations and – to his amusement – a broad selection of exotic liquors.

 _Nice_.

Crest shut the cabinet door and leaned against the prep-table, studying the galley with appreciation. The Maka-Eekai was a pretty sweet ship, when all was said and done. Compared to the dinky  _Wayfarer,_ this freighter seemed downright  _huge,_ and more than adequate enough to hold all of Shadow Squad, plus the extra Jedi. If only his squad had gotten a ship like this while they were off traipsing all over the galaxy, there might've been less bickering.

But while living in close quarters had caused its fair share of trouble, it had also cemented the bonds between the clones and their Jedi. Before Shadow Squad, Crest had never thought he'd find others who could tolerate him for any length of time, let alone make him feel like he  _belonged._

He sighed and traced an invisible pattern on the imitation wood grain on the table's surface. This whole situation blew fardling asteroids. Stonewall and Milo, arrested and shipped off to Kamino, probably never to leave. As much as Crest considered himself an optimist, he had that uncomfortable knot in his gut that usually meant something bad was about to happen. Or had already happened.

Plus Kalinda was pregnant. Would Stonewall ever know his kid? Crest winced at the notion. Fek...that might've been the worst kriffing part. He didn't even  _want_ to think of it.

With some effort, he turned his mind to other things, because he couldn't help Kalinda, at least not right now. If the worst did come to pass, he'd ensure that she or her kid never wanted for anything – well, anything that he could reasonably provide.

Crest glanced around again, wondering if it would be out of line to prep some food or something. May as well make himself useful. He'd just flicked on the percolator and started digging around for caf to fill it, when he felt...something weird. It was kind of like catching someone's eye across a crowded room, noting the tilt of their head and the way their eyes darted, all of which said,  _I want to talk to you._ It was like someone, somewhere, had tried to get his attention.

But he was alone.

 _That's effing creepy._  A shiver ran up his spine and he turned back to the caf, but his hands stilled in the next moment, because – and he would stake his favorite datapad on this – he heard Milo's voice inside his head.

_Help._

One word, but it encompassed a great deal. Crest sucked in his breath, only half-noticing the rich scent of the caf he'd opened to add to the percolator, and placed his hands on the counter's edge. Milo's voice. Inside his head.

He looked down at his hands and realized they were trembling and dusted with ground caf that he'd apparently spilled all over the place.  _Fek._

Was he going insane?

 _No_ , he thought, shaking his head once. Crest knew he was a lot of things, many of them unflattering, but he was not crazy, and he'd been around Jedi – and apparently a Force-sensitive clone – long enough to know that there was a lot about the galaxy he  _didn't_ know.

There was really only one thing to do. He had to find Kali. Maybe she could shed some light on all of this, or at least confirm if he'd lost his  _shabla_ mind. Without another thought to the caf or the mess he'd made, Crest turned and hurried for the galley door.

* * *

It was harder than it should have been for Weave to look Honi Tallis in those cool, blue eyes of hers and say what needed to be said. "No one's arguing that fact, General. But my brothers and I have a larger issue at hand than your Padawan's discipline."

"Zara explicitly disobeyed my orders, and you want me to just  _let it go_?" The Jedi didn't seem to like the fact that Weave had interrupted her tirade against the little Nautolan teenager, and the look she gave him was sharp enough to cut durasteel.

But Weave was a medic, trained to withstand even the most intense, dangerous situations in order to help his brothers; though he was not physically helping Stonewall and Milo at the moment, keeping Tallis focused on the rescue was an essential component to saving his  _vode._

So he met her gaze with calm certainty. "For the moment, yes."

Tallis made a noise of disgust and shot a glance at her Padawan, who sat on one of the lounge couches, hands in her lap, eyes downcast as she awaited her punishment. Weave took the moment of continued silence to supplement his position.

"Frankly, this whole situation is unorthodox, General, but we're all trying to cope as best we can." He paused, then dropped his pitch to a deeper, more serious register to fully get the point across. "My brothers' lives are at stake here, and Kalinda asked me to work with you to come up with a plan of sorts when we reach Kamino. So while I understand that you have a duty to your Padawan, helping my brothers – and Kalinda – must come first, right now."

He took pains to keep his irritation out of his voice. They'd already wasted too much time arguing, and it was time to do something constructive. Even so, it was passing strange to speak to a Jedi like this, even though he knew he was in the right. But despite this, for a moment he thought he'd gone too far. Tallis' slender jaw clenched and color spotted her angular cheekbones, surrounding the freckles that dusted her nose with pale pink. Her lips parted as she took a breath...

Then she exhaled and smoothed back an errant strand of coppery hair that had come undone from the pins scattered over her head. "Very well. But," she looked back at Zara, who shrank into the couch, "the moment this is over, you and I are going to have words, my very young apprentice."

Zara's large, dark eyes lidded as she dipped her head into a nod. "Yes, Master Tallis."

"Thank you," Weave said, exhaling deeply. "Now, about Kamino..."

It was the strangest sensation.

One moment he was taking a breath to speak while also thinking through all of the potential methods of getting around, or through, a Republic blockade. The next...

Some medics had what was only half-jokingly referred to as "medic senses." The notion was that a clone medic – a decent one, anyway – had almost Jedi-like abilities to know when their patients were in distress and needed their help, even if said patient was unable to verbalize such a thing. Weave didn't believe there was anything supernatural about it, but rather that a medic should be so attuned to his patient that the slightest change in that patient's condition would catch the medic's attention.

He'd experienced it before. Sometimes it was a change in breathing pattern, or a stirring of fingertips. A quiet moan; fluttering eyelids. A sharp intake of breath. These were the signs, and Weave knew how to look for them, listen for them, as surely as he knew his own name.

So it was beyond bizarre to experience that same sort of sign without anything tangible, like a breath or movement of the body. It was a tentative sensation, and all at once he was reminded of Milo, gently touching his elbow in an attempt to get his attention, though the younger clone never liked interrupting Weave if he could help it.

But...Milo? Milo was...calling him? How?

"Weave?"

He blinked twice, trying to make sense of the feeling. Was one of the Force-users in the room pulling a prank on him? Doubtful; the Padawan was fidgeting with the hem of her tunic, eyes downcast, and Tallis did not strike Weave as the "prankster" type. Besides, neither of them knew Milo, and he knew, somehow, that it was Mi who was responsible for this weirdness.

The feeling brushed against Weave's awareness again. Instinct told him to recoil from the strangeness, but he pushed through the gut reaction because he needed to  _know._ He needed information before he could make a judgment about this oddity, and besides, if Milo was in trouble, Weave needed to help. That was what medics were for. So rather than try to ignore it, he focused on the weird feeling and tried to examine it, just to see what he could see.

He was met with one thought:  _Help._

Then, nothing.

 _What am I supposed to do about this?_  he thought.  _I'm on my way, but still across the galaxy. How can I help if I can't be by his side?_

Kalinda would know. He had to find her...

"Weave?"

Something was touching his elbow.  _Really_  touching it. He blinked again, a bit disoriented from the strange contact, and when his eyes focused, he saw Tallis' pale blue ones looking back at him. Though he'd only known her a short while, he thought hers was not the sort of face that often looked worried, so it was odd to note the emotion in her furrowed brow.

But it was fleeting. The moment their eyes met, she frowned. "What's wrong with you?"

How the kriff was he supposed to answer that? "I don't–"

The lounge door slid open and Kalinda spilled into the room; the clang of boots on durasteel told Weave that Crest and Trax – and Ares, too – were on her heels. She met Weave's eyes and he noted the outright fear in her face, a stark contrast from Tallis' cool veneer.

"Milo," Kalinda gasped.

One word. It was enough.

* * *

Honi felt her former Master's fear before Kalinda burst into the lounge, though her reaction time was slower than it should have been, as she'd been a bit caught up in Weave's sudden distraction. Confusion had ebbed from him, as well as a sense of helplessness, one she recognized well. It was a Healer's lot to fight against forces beyond anyone's control.

But all of that fled her mind the moment she caught sight of Kalinda. The dark-haired woman swept her eyes around the room but did not seem to see anything, instead gasping the name of one of the clones they were on the way to extract from Kamino. This caused Weave and the other clones – who'd burst in on Kalinda's heels – to gape at their general.

"Did you feel that, too?" Crest asked the Jedi, rubbing his forehead. "Kriff...it was like Milo was..."

"Inside my effing head," Traxis finished with a grimace.

Weave took a deep breath and studied Kalinda, who looked between each clone, bewilderment replacing the fear on her face. "I felt it as well," the medic said quietly, brow furrowed. "Do you know what 'it' was?"

"You  _all_  felt Milo?" Kalinda asked.

The three men nodded. Honi noticed that they'd clustered together to one side of the lounge's door, though she could not have said whether or not it was intentional. Their Twi'lek pilot, Ares Tabora, stood just outside the door, clearly interested in whatever was taking place, but not, she thought, quite willing to wade into the middle of it all. Zara, to her credit, held perfectly still on the couch, and was silent.

Kalinda gave Honi a rather helpless look, but spoke to her men. "I don't...I don't know how that's possible..."

"Well, it fekking happened," Traxis said in a dark voice, crossing his arms before his armored chest. "But what the kriff does it mean?"

"Is Milo," Crest swallowed and dropped his voice, "Force-sensitive, too?"

Kalinda closed her eyes for a moment, then shook her head. "I don't know for certain, Crest, but I don't think so."

Weave frowned. "But how else could he have contacted all of us? How is it possible for a clone to do that? And if any clone  _could_ do such a thing, why wouldn't it be a Force-sensitive one, like Stonewall?"

Here, Kalinda's breath hitched and Honi felt a wave of grief from her former teacher. A warning pinged in the back of her mind, and she chastised herself for not keeping closer tabs on Kalinda; she'd been too annoyed with Zara's actions and had let her focus slip. She had come along on this insane mission for Kalinda's sake, after all.

All the clones looked even more concerned than before, but it was Traxis who moved first. He stepped to Kalinda and put a hand on her shoulder. "What is it?"

There was a pause, then Kalinda took a deep, shuddering breath, and Honi watched her hands tighten in the fabric of her jacket. "Stonewall...is gone."

Silence filled the lounge.

Until Crest shook his head once. "What do you mean...gone?"

"Kali?" Traxis' voice was barely a whisper.

The dark-haired woman shook her head and, after seeming to take a moment to gather her courage, she met each clone's eyes in turn. "I felt him in the Force. He's gone."

"I don't understand," Weave said. "'Gone' as in..."

"Dead," Traxis snapped, pulling his hand back and turning away from the others. "Stonewall's fekking dead."

Weave and Crest looked at Kalinda again, who nodded. "I felt...when it happened."

Honi closed her eyes. Any loss of life was to be mourned, but she knew this would hit Kalinda hard, and all at once she was grateful she'd chosen to come along. It was the right thing to do. When she looked at her former Master again, Kalinda appeared to have shrunk in on herself, eyes downcast, arms hugging her body.

"You felt it?" Crest said after a moment, still shaking his head. "Like..."

"Fekking hell, Baldy, what more explanation do you kriffing need?" Traxis growled. "Stonewall is  _dead_. His Jedi-wife just effing confirmed it."

"Forgive me if I don't understand all of this Force-stuff like you  _obviously_  do," Crest shot back, eyes narrowed. "But I'm trying, okay?"

"Effing try harder."

Crest made a noise of disgust. "For fek's sake. Can't you be fardling decent for two seconds?"

A small movement caught Honi's eye; Weave's head had dipped, his eyes had lidded and his shoulders had dropped. Now, he pulled himself up and raised his chin, tightening his jaw and fists, and sweeping his eyes over the two other clones.

"Both of you – cool your jets." His voice held traces of command, as it had before, when he'd argued with her. "Stop fighting each other and focus on the matter at hand."

Crest and Traxis looked away from one another, but offered no protest. Nodding, Weave glanced back at Kalinda, who still looked as if she was about to collapse. "Do you think Milo is still alive?"

"Yes," she said, nodding quickly. "I...felt him, too. You all did, apparently."

Beyond bizarre. If only one clone had "sensed" their comrade, Honi might've thought they were hallucinating; all of them, plus a Jedi Knight, sensing Milo, however...well, she hardly knew what to think. In any case, Honi was not sure what – if anything – could be done about it now.

Weave seemed to agree, for he nodded again. "Are we still going to Kamino?"

"Of course we are," Kalinda replied.

"Then the plan hasn't changed," Weave said. All three clones looked relieved to have something else to focus on. "We're still on a rescue mission," Weave added. "Now we need to work out the details."

The commanding trace to his voice had not fled completely, but had mostly been replaced by what Honi could only think of as forced calm. Too-well did she recognize the tone, though she'd never had much use for it herself.

Kalinda blinked rapidly, and if Honi looked closely, she could see her former teacher's skin paling by the moment. A brush with the Force confirmed that Kalinda's heart was racing and agitation was filling her up from the inside-out. If she kept this up, she'd have a panic attack.

"What details?" Traxis said. "We blast inside, take Mi, and blow the rest of the place to shit. You brought some dets, right?"

This was said to Crest, who nodded grimly. "Yeah. Not enough to do any lasting damage, but enough to put some hurt on those  _chakaare._ "

"Good enough for me," Traxis replied.

But Weave was shaking his head. "Are you thermal? We can't just blast our way through a blockade. Right?" He glanced at Tabora, who blanched.

"Not on  _my_  ship," the Twi'lek said.

Traxis scowled, but Weave continued before the scarred clone could speak. "Of course not. We'll have to get through the blockade another way. Probably with a bluff, if you think you're up for it," he added, nodding to Honi.

She lifted her chin. "Do not concern yourself with the blockade. It won't be an issue."

To her surprise, he offered her a faint smile. "Glad to hear it." He looked at Kalinda, who still stood with her arms around her torso, and Honi could see that her breath was short. "Do you think you can find Milo through the Force...?"

He trailed off and reached for her arm to get her attention. "Kalinda? Are you okay?"

Honi moved to her side as well, ensuring her own words were calm. "Kalinda? Answer him."

"I..." The dark-haired Jedi's words trailed off and she gasped again, clutching her abdomen and nearly doubling over. "It hurts," she managed. "Honi..."

Honi shoved the clone medic aside and placed a hand on her friend's stomach. A brush with the Force told her that nothing fatal was taking place, but she wanted to investigate further. Force-knew if Kalinda had even  _had_ a real Healer look her over since she'd conceived.

"Come on," she said, urging Kalinda toward the lounge door. "I want to examine you privately. Zara," she added with a look at her Padawan. "You too. You need the practice."

The girl all but flew after her, but the clones were not so pleased. "What the  _haran_ is going on?" Traxis said, eyes darting to Kalinda. "Is she going to be okay?"

There was an edge of desperation to his tone, and the emotion fairly rolled of of him and the bald clone. Weave's emotions were more tightly bound, but Honi figured he was out of his depth when it came to pregnancies. Frankly, she wasn't an expert, but she had some experience, thanks to extensive training and a few past missions.

But she had little time or inclination to offer any of the clones reassurances. All of her focus was on her patient, as it must be. Honi sighed and brushed past Tabora, who moved out of her way and into the lounge proper.

"I think she'll be fine, but I want to make sure.  _Privately_." She cast a sharp look between the four males who now stood in the lounge. "When I'm finished, I'll return and we can continue planning. How much time until we reach the Rishi sector?"

Tabora cleared his throat. "We should arrive within ten hours."

Honi gave a swift nod in reply, and turned back to her patient. Without offering another word, she led Kalinda across the threshold and toward the nearest cabin, Zara on her heels.

* * *

Zara closed the cabin door at her Master's behest, and took a deep breath to steel herself. Though her studies had covered similar situations, she'd never actually worked  _with_  a pregnant woman before, and silently hoped she wouldn't farkle anything up. The cabin was modest, outfitted with only a bunk and a door that she imagined led to the 'fresher.

Master Tallis steered Master Halcyon to the bunk and all but shoved her to a seated position and began removing her jacket and outer tunic. "Have you had a Healer – or any qualified medical practitioner – examine you?"

"Haven't really had time for that, Honi," Master Halcyon replied through gritted teeth.

"I thought as much. Zara, come take her vitals," Master Tallis said as she set the tunic and jacket aside. She looked back at her former Master and placed her hands on the other Jedi's abdomen. "Be still."

Master Halcyon nodded; pain and agitation radiated from the dark-haired Jedi, and the Force was rife with her sorrow. Zara approached her with caution, giving a faint smile as she sat beside Master Halcyon on the bunk.

"Um...may I see your wrist, please, Master Halcyon?" Zara asked in her most polite voice, while her own Master prodded at the pregnant Jedi's stomach.

Master Halcyon winced but obliged. Her wrist was slender and her pulse was quick; Zara made a mental note of it, and looked at the older Jedi. "It's a little too fast. You should try to take some deep breaths and relax, Master."

"Kali."

Confused, Zara frowned. The dark-haired Jedi took a deep, shuddering breath and met Zara's eyes. "Just call me 'Kali,' or 'Kalinda,' please. I'm no Master."

Zara ducked her head, suddenly, inexplicably shy. "Okay, Kalinda."

Kalinda looked over at Master Tallis; one hand rested on Kalinda's abdomen, while her eyes were closed. "Honi...please tell me if something's wrong."

Master Tallis exhaled, but regarded her former teacher a beat later. "Everything appears normal. As far as I can tell, the fetus is healthy, but I would feel more comfortable with a full-body scan. Have you taken any of the supplements I brought?"

"You mean since the ones you practically shoved down my throat this morning?" Kalinda's voice was wry, but it felt forced.

Master Tallis, as ever, was unperturbed. "Yes."

Kalinda sighed and shook her head. "No, Honi. Not since."

"You need to take them regularly. At least twice daily, with your meals."

"I will." At Master Tallis' look, Kalinda held up her hands in supplication. "I  _will._ I promise, okay? But you need to cut me some slack. I can't–"

The words broke off and she looked down at her lap, blinking rapidly. The sorrow that tinged the air around her thickened, and Zara felt a pang of sympathy in her own heart.

"He was your husband?" she asked softly, placing a hand on Kalinda's shoulder.

Kalinda nodded but did not meet Zara's eyes. Zara looked at her Master, who sat stiffly beside the dark-haired Jedi, one hand toying with the hem of her robes. It was an odd sight. Normally, Master Tallis was the epitome of capability, but she seemed out of her element here.

Well, that was fine. As much as Zara hated seeing anyone hurting, she liked being able to bring a little comfort when she could. Emotional healing was just as important as physical healing. So she wrapped her arm around Kalinda's shoulders and hugged the older Jedi close.

"I'm really sorry," she said.

Kalinda's body tensed for a moment, then she relaxed into Zara's hug, tilting her head into Zara's  _lekku_  and trembling harder than before. Zara patted her arm and tried to say those little words of comfort she'd heard other Healers use.  _It will be okay._ She glanced up and noted that her Master was watching the exchange with something like fascination, though Zara sensed a flare of...bewilderment as well.

While Kalinda wept into Zara's  _lekku,_ Master Tallis met her eyes and mouthed,  _thank you._

Stunned, all Zara could offer in reply was a nod.


	25. Chapter Twenty-Four

Lyrics: ["Hercules," performed by Aaron Neville, on  _Make Me Strong._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NGGRi2CEFu8&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp&index=25)

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

_Like a bird on the wing,_

_I just wanna be free enough to do my thing._

_I can feel the pressure from every side._

_If you're not gonna help, don't hurt,_

_Just pass me by._

Much to Weave's relief, General Tallis emerged only about a quarter of an hour after she'd brought Kalinda to a cabin. Weave, who'd been seated beside Crest on the lounge sofa, looked up as the copper-haired Jedi slipped into the room, alone.

"How is she?" he asked.

Trax had been pacing, naturally, but paused at this. Tabora had been seated at the small dining table, back to the wall, eyes flickering between the clones as they'd discussed the situation, but not offering his own commentary. At Tallis' entrance, he, too, regarded the female Jedi.

Tallis' face revealed nothing as she crossed the room and took a seat at the table with Tabora. "She's fine, as I said she was. She's sleeping now. Zara's with her."

The knot of anxiety that had formed in Weave's solar plexus loosened a bit, and he glanced over at Crest, who looked visibly relieved. Trax leaned against the bulkhead, arms crossed before his chest, and studied the Jedi. "Your Padawan can handle it?"

Tallis' brow furrowed as if something had confused her, but the expression only lasted a moment before she nodded slowly. "Your general is in capable hands, Traxis. Zara will alert me if there are any complications, but I think Kalinda will be fine."

"What happened?" Weave asked, sitting up. "Is she in any danger? Is the child?"

All of the clones regarded Tallis, though she did not flinch beneath their scrutiny. "Until she has a full-body scan, I can say nothing for certain. However, all evidence suggests her current health is satisfactory."

"But she was...hurting," Crest said softly. "That can't be good, right?"

"The pain she felt was likely a result of stress." Tallis paused, and Weave caught a glimpse of the worried young woman behind the Jedi's cool exterior. "She is under a great deal of emotional strain."

"But she's okay, now?" Traxis asked.

The copper-haired Jedi exhaled and slanted him a sharp look. "As I have said repeatedly: yes, she is 'okay.' For the moment, at any rate, though I want to get her to a true medical center as soon as we've finished your business on Kamino."

Weave exchanged looks with his brothers; he could tell that neither was quite convinced, but there wasn't much any of them could do for their Jedi right now. Right. Now that the health of his team was stable, it was time to turn his mind to other matters.

"Thank you for taking care of her," he said to Tallis, inclining his head. "Now, what's our plan for when we reach Kamino?"

"I said  _not_  to worry about the blockade," she replied stiffly.

"Kriffing hell, woman, we heard you," Traxis shot back. "But it's a fardling big planet; do we even know where Milo is? And how the fek is it going to look if we pop out of hyperspace in this  _shabla_  vessel?"

Tabora's chin jerked at this, and the tips of his  _lekku_ flushed almost crimson as he frowned at Traxis. His voice, though, was calm. "Word on the hyperlanes is that many Jedi have been forced to contract with independent pilots. Not everyone can cruise the galaxy on a Star Destroyer. And I have, ah, ways of adding to the  _Raven's_  legitimacy."

Everyone regarded the Twi'lek, but it was Crest who spoke. "How's that?"

"Transponder codes can be altered to suit one's needs," Tabora replied easily. "Just say the word."

General Tallis frowned, but said nothing. Weave wasn't too keen on such a thing either – transponder codes were assigned by the Bureau of Ships and Services, and it was illegal to tamper with them – but as an outlaw, he figured he didn't have much room to argue the fact.

"My other concern, which Traxis pointed out," Tabora continued, "is exactly  _how_ we will locate your friend once we are through the blockade."

"Maybe Kali could...sense him?" Crest asked, looking at the copper-haired Jedi. "She said she could feel him a minute ago. I mean, we all kind of sensed him, I guess." He grimaced. "Or something. I don't really want to think about it too hard, honestly."

Tallis considered, her fingertips drumming lightly upon the table's surface. "Perhaps Kalinda could try to track Milo's presence in the Force; she was always adept at that sort of thing. It is a common ability among Jedi, especially if one is close to the person they're attempting to locate. I will ask her when she wakes."

In all likelihood, it would work out, but Weave was loathe to enter into any mission with only the Force to rely upon. Yes, it'd served him well in the past, but now was not the time to get complacent.

"But if the Force fails us, we need to have a backup plan," Weave said.

Traxis shrugged. "You got any bright ideas?"

The lounge was silent for a moment before Weave inhaled deeply and shook his head. "No."

To his surprise, General Tallis sat upright and lifted her chin, passing her eyes over the others in turn, though they landed on Weave, and stayed there as she spoke. "You have placed your trust in your Jedi; by extension, you have placed your trust in the Force. Whether you like it or not, it is a reality you must accept."

Anxiety coiled in Weave's chest, but he tried to ignore the feeling. Trusting the Force was all well and good, but Weave would have felt better with even the most meager intel. Still, they had plenty of time until they reached their destination, and he figured he could discuss all of this with Kalinda when she woke up. It was probably for the best that she get some sleep now.

Crest and Traxis watched him, silently waiting for his cue. Weave was a sergeant, but being in command was a strange feeling; though neither clone was known for being "obedient," Weave thought they'd reverted somewhat to old behavior in the wake of recent events. After Stonewall, he was slotted for leadership of the squad. If the captain never returned, Weave would be the leader of Shadow Squad – or what remained of them.

It was an unsettling realization.

But he could not afford to hesitate, nor offer needless dissent. Now, more than ever, he had to be certain of his path. So he nodded once. "As you say, General Tallis."

* * *

About twenty minutes later, Crest was at something of a loss as to what to do with himself.

Weave and General Tallis were deep in discussion, and though he  _was_ interested in the mission and Kalinda's health – their two main topics of conversation – Crest found he was too keyed up to add much of substance. When the talk turned to the weirdness of all the clones somehow sensing Milo, he got even more uncomfortable.

"But how?" Weave kept asking.

General Tallis shook her head. Some of the pins that held up her hair had come loose, allowing strands of coppery hair to fall around her face. "I don't know."

"Did we all...simultaneously hallucinate? Is it some sort of...stress-induced psychosis?" Frustration coated the medic's words, and he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Again, the Jedi's reply was calm, but no more informative. "I don't–"

"Right, I know." Weave sighed. "It's just..."

He trailed off, but the Jedi, to Crest's surprise, gave him a faint, half-smile as she began to take out the rest of the pins. "It is. But as you said before, we have other matters to focus upon."

She paused to shake her hair free; it was pretty long, falling almost to her mid-back, and Crest watched his brother try  _not_ to watch the Jedi as she smoothed it out and began to pin it back up. "The most pressing concern is the extraction of your brother. Perhaps he can answer these questions."

Weave nodded slowly and toyed with his ubiquitous datapad. "Maybe."

It wasn't exactly a private conversation, but Crest still felt a bit like he was eavesdropping, so he tried to look like he wasn't listening and turned his mind to other things. Really, he'd think about  _anything_ if it meant he didn't have to mull over what the kriff had happened to Stonewall and Milo.

Tabora had slipped off to the helm again; Traxis had gone with him. Actually, the scarred clone hadn't really left the Twi'lek's side since he'd set foot on the ship.

 _Trax has himself a crush_ , Crest thought, chuckling to himself.  _Good for him. He always likes the bad boys._

Someone's throat cleared. He glanced up to see Tallis giving him a disapproving look; enough training sergeants and officers had bestowed similar ones upon him, so he recognized the kind. Weave's expression veered more toward exasperation, which made Crest's ears get hot. It wasn't his fault that he found something to smile at, even in the worst of times. Kriff; he was legitimately happy for Trax, and if his own mind was taken off of their current, sorry predicament, then all the better.

But he knew when he was about to get a talking-to, so he made a show of getting to his feet. "Think I'll brew some caf. Either of you want any?"

Neither one did. Crest made his way to the helm, pausing to activate the door chime that would signal his presence. The door slid open and he watched Traxis and Tabora turn his way, one at the helm, the other standing with his back to the bulkhead.

"Hey, Ares," Crest said, thumbing toward the galley. "Mind if I make some caf?"

"Help yourself, my friend."

"Want any?"

The Twi'lek nodded. "Lots of cream and sugar, please."

"Gotcha. Trax?"

Traxis considered, his jaw working like he was chewing the inside of his cheek, as was his custom when he was agitated but trying not to show it. At last he nodded as well. "Sure. Thanks,  _vod."_

Crest tried to hide his exhale of relief as he turned back for the door. At last, something to do. "Coming right up."

The moment he entered the galley, he swore. Loudly and violently, though luckily no one else was within earshot. Ground caf speckled the floor and counter, reminding him that he'd barreled out of here without cleaning up his mess from earlier.

Well, he'd wanted something to do.

With a sigh, Crest began to poke around cabinets until he found a dustpan and brush, and bent to sweep up the spilled grounds. Once the area was adequately clean, he filled the percolator – still on from his earlier foray – and set it to brew. As he did, something in his belt began to vibrate.

For a moment he was confused, then he remembered that Kalinda had given him her comlink, which meant that whoever was calling was either Ro or...

_Ah, fek._

The  _Stark Raven_ was in hyperspace, but apparently the little comlink was retrofitted to receive and make transmissions even then, so he had no excuse not to answer. Stomach suddenly in knots, Crest withdrew the device from his belt and activated it.

Except, he had no clue what he was supposed to say. After a frantic moment of debate, he settled on, "Hello?"

Usually a safe bet.

A woman's voice, one he recognized all-too-well, replied. "Crest?"

 _Shab_. How did she know it was him? His throat was tight and his stomach flipped like an ill-fated airspeeder in Coruscanti rush-hour. "Sita. I mean," he winced, "yes, Your Majesty. It's me."

There was a pause, then the queen of Aruna spoke again, her voice wavering and uncertain, more so than he remembered. "Is...is Kalinda there? I wanted to check in, to make sure she was well."

"She's...resting," Crest replied, glancing at the galley door. "I can wake her up if you like..."

"No, that's not necessary, thank you, but please let her know I called." Sita paused. "It is good to hear your voice, Crest. How...how are you?"

He leaned back against the counter, hoping his words didn't give away the fact that his heart was racing. "Oh, you know. On a desperate, last-ditch effort to rescue my brother from the clutches of the long-necks. Business as usual."

To his surprise, she gave a light chuckle, though her next words were serious. "Your...brother? Just the one? I thought two of Kali's men had been abducted?"

Crest took a deep breath. "Um...yeah, that's true. But..." His voice cracked and he had to grind his teeth to get the kriffing words out. "Stonewall's...dead. We're just hoping to extract Milo at this point."

Silence.

Then her voice again, soft as wind on water. "Oh, Crest. I am so sorry..."

He squeezed his eyes shut, suddenly no longer able to even pretend he was anything other than devastated. "Me too."

 _Shab_. His eyes burned and his throat was tight, like he'd tried to swallow his fardling gauntlet. He tried to take a few deep breaths to calm down, but only managed a weak sort of hiccuping sound. The kicker? He was too effing miserable to care that he sounded like an utter  _di'kut_  to the woman who occupied each thought, every dream, ever since that evening almost a year ago. There were times when he could still feel her lips on his, still smell the jasmine that clung to her pale hair.

For all of his attempts at flirtation with other fems, in his heart of hearts, there would only ever be one woman for him. Silly as it was, impossible as it would ever be, he knew it as surely as he knew his own name.

But even that knowledge was not enough to bring him comfort, now. Stonewall was dead, and Milo was probably on his way; at best, the kid was lost and scared, and alone. He needed his brothers, but they were half a galaxy away.

"Crest?" Her lilting, Arunai accent drew him out of the darkness.

 _Pull yourself together, man._  "Yeah?"

"Listen to me."

Oddly, he felt a smile tug at his mouth. "No promises."

"I cannot help you rescue Milo," she said quietly. "But you have my word that once you reach Aruna, you and those who travel with you will be safe. This, I can do for you. Do you understand?"

"You make it sound so easy," he replied wryly, swiping at his eyes.

"Perhaps that's because it is."

"I'd like to believe that, Sita." He winced again. "Sorry. Your Majesty."

There was affection in her next words. "I do believe we're past such formalities, Crest."

His cheeks heated but he kept his reply as light as he could. "Glad to hear it."

* * *

_Meanwhile..._

The door to the cockpit slid shut, and Ares looked back at the blue streak of hyperspace. His silent companion remained just that – silent. It was starting to wear on his nerves.

Which could be said for this journey so far, though it'd barely begun. Though the  _Raven_  was outfitted to carry passengers, Ares was not accustomed to being around so many others, and had grown rather fond of flying solo, lonely though it was at times. And this group, while kind enough, seemed to come with a myriad of troubles, which boded ill for an already troubled bounty hunter.

Both of his  _lekku_ itched at the bases, and he frowned against the familiar craving. Did he even  _have_ a cigarra on board? He thought he'd gotten rid of them the last time he'd quit...

"How long?"

Traxis' voice was sullen, as it had been the last four times he'd asked the same question. Aside from his answer to Crest's caf question, these words were all Trax had said since they'd entered the cockpit. Ares sighed as he glanced at the nav; he'd tried to keep his answers civil – he was a professional, after all – but this was a bit excessive. "We should reach Kamino in about eight hours."

He glanced over at the clone, whose light brown eyes flickered his way, but ultimately remained fixed on hyperspace. The blue glow normally cast beings in a cool, pleasant light that softened edges and smoothed harsh features.

Not so, on Traxis. The scar that ribboned down the left side of his face was thrown into stark relief, and from this angle, Ares could see that it reached beneath the black body-glove he wore. How far down did it go? Was it joined by others, hidden out of sight?

"And those effing transponder codes of yours will work?"

A new question, at least. Ares wrinkled his nose at the disdain in Traxis' voice, but again, tried to keep his patience. The soldier was worried for his friends, and probably not in the best of emotional states, given the interaction in the lounge not long ago.

His  _lekku_ itched a little more. Come to think of it, he remembered losing a pack of cigarras in the engine room. But that was a few years ago. Odds were not good it would still be there.

"To the best of my knowledge," he replied. "Though none of us can predict what the future holds."

"Oh,  _that's_  reassuring."

"It's not meant to be."

Traxis scowled. "We're putting a lot of effing trust in you,  _chakaar_ , not to mention the hefty payment you're getting out of all this. So why don't you dial back the milking 'tude and get us where we need to go?"

The final, fraying threads of Ares' patience snapped.

"Very well." He flicked on the autopilot and stood up, offering his best glare to the scarred clone, who watched his movements with interest. "Would you like to see for yourself where all of this trust of yours is being placed?"

"What the fek are you talking about?"

"I can show you how the transponder codes work, if it will set your mind at ease."

Traxis glanced between the helm and the Twi'lek, seemingly at a loss. "Everything will be...okay up here?"

Despite his annoyance, Ares was able to offer a wry smile. "It has been every other time I've stepped away, has it not?"

Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but Ares swore a flush crept up Traxis' neck, though the clone merely gave a curt nod and followed Ares out of the cockpit. They crossed the cargo bay in silence, pausing before the engine access hatch. This was sealed with a lock-code, which Ares keyed in quickly. The hatch slid open to reveal the innermost workings of his beloved  _Raven,_ and he couldn't suppress a sigh of satisfaction at the sight.

Though it filled the bulk of the space, the sublight engine was an unremarkable fixture. Boxy and utilitarian, the engine had several sensor panels affixed to the front, along with quite a few ports through which one could manually align the firing cells or examine the ion-collector pods for buildup. But it was the device's simplicity that housed its genius.

Ares glanced at his companion, who examined the sublight engine like it was an unfamiliar type of food he wasn't sure he wanted to taste. "Have you ever worked with a Hoersch-Kessel ion drive?"

Traxis shook his head. "Engines are Weave's thing."

Most of Ares' agitation melted away when he'd set eyes on his engine, so he ducked his head beneath an overhanging lip that contained the collector coils, and made his way further into the room. After a beat, Traxis followed.

"The particulars of each engine vary, but most sublight engines are manufactured from one design: the Hoersch-Kessel ion drive. The design is such that it can be modified to suit almost any need, from a speeder-bike to a Star Destroyer."

Ares had to pitch his voice a little louder than normal to rise above the hum of the hyperdrive, hard at work in the corner of the engine room. The sublights were on standby now, so that they could immediately take over piloting the ship once the  _Raven_  came out of hyperspace.

"There are few moving parts, as you can see, which cuts down on maintenance; those parts the engine does use can be found almost everywhere."

He glanced at the clone, who stood a little less than an arm's length away, eying the sublight drive with trepidation. At Ares' pause, Traxis glanced his way, seeming to have to search for words. "Uh...that's good."

Ares smiled. Traxis was remarkably handsome, even more so when he wasn't being a pain in the  _choobies_. "Indeed it is. This model can run on nearly any type of fuel."

"Great."

"You see that panel there?"

Traxis' gaze followed Ares' pointing finger, to a blinking panel affixed to the upper right corner of the drive. A series of numbers and letters glowed softly at the panel's center. "What about it?"

"That's where the transponder codes are burned into each engine, courtesy of the Bureau of Ships and Services. The codes are associated with a serial number stored in the Bureau's information banks. The idea is that no matter how many times a vessel changes hands, the codes will remain the same, thus always identifying the ship. But," he flipped open the panel and withdrew a series of sheets of metal, so thin they were nearly flimsi in his hands, "there are ways around such a thing."

Traxis' brows lifted, and he looked between Ares and the false codes, clearly at a loss for words. "Those come standard?" he asked at last.

Ares laughed outright and began to thumb through the codes, carefully, so as not to leave any smudges that might tamper with the sensors. "Not quite, my friend."

It took him a moment to find the one he wanted; a Republic-friendly code that had served him well on a job he'd done a few months after the Wars had started. As he replaced the current code with the new one, he noticed his clone companion's shifting boots and clenching jaw, which broadcast the Human's agitation as surely as if he'd announced his feelings outright.

Ares looked back at the casing that housed the thin sheets of metal, ensuring it was fastened securely. "I do not know you or your friends very well," he said quietly. "But from what I have seen, any Jedi who is willing to go to these lengths to rescue men like your brothers is a force to be reckoned with. You have my word that I will do what I can to help."

"Men like  _what_?"

There was an edge to Traxis' voice that Ares had not heard before. Transponder code secure, he straightened and met Traxis' eyes. "You said yourself that clones are considered slaves by most."

Traxis' eyes narrowed and his hands clenched into fists at his sides, and Ares was suddenly acutely aware that this man wore full body armor, and he only a flimsy nerf-leather jacket. He was no slouch when it came to physical combat, but he had a feeling he would not walk away from a fight with Traxis without a few bruises and possibly a broken bone or two.

Indeed, Traxis took a step closer and met Ares' eyes in a silent challenge that underwrote his words. "Is that what  _you_  think of me? A  _shabla_  slave? Cannon-fodder, flesh-droid?"

Amidst the hum of the engines, Traxis' voice was a low growl that shot directly through Ares'  _lekku_ , straight to other parts of his anatomy. They were close enough now that he could feel the heat of Traxis' skin, even through the armored plating, and he was hard-pressed to speak normally. "No..."

"Then what am I?"

Ares swallowed, fighting to gain control of himself. "You're a man."

"You're damn right I am," Traxis said, and sealed the gap between them.

It was a deep kiss, a bruising kiss, and Ares relished every part of it, but briefly. He allowed himself one moment of pure, sweet weakness before he broke away and stepped past Traxis, toward the front of the engine room, hoping that with a little distance he could find his own composure. He leaned his hand against the sublight engine's smooth side and regarded the clone. "We've discussed this."

Traxis followed a beat later, though he kept himself at arm's length. "Yeah. But I thought..."

He trailed off and Ares sighed. "You 'thought?' With which head?"

A half-smile slid to the clone's face, and his eyes gleamed. "Was I wrong?"

Ares sighed again, and rubbed his left  _lek_ absently as he glanced around the engine room, searching for a nook where his past self might've shoved a cigarra pack. "That is not the point."

"What the fek does that mean?" Traxis rested his hands on his hips and regarded Ares with a knowing – a far too knowing – look. "A kiss like that doesn't lie. We've got means, motive and opportunity. What more do we need?"

"You're not in your right mind."

Traxis smirked. "You don't know me well enough to make that call."

Ares spotted a vaguely familiar-looking crevasse near the base of the hyperdrive and all but dove for it, silently thanking the Force when his fingers touched the crumpled cigarra pack. Only one stick left; he withdrew it with a faintly trembling hand, and began to fumble through his coat.

No lighter. He may have had one in his cabin, but it was a long way from here. Ares sighed again and looked at the armored man beside him. "As you say. But the fact remains that I do not wish to be a," he frowned, "means to an end."

"With me?"

Ares studied the cigarra in his fingers; it was a few years old, and the flimsi coating was peeling away. "With anyone."

Traxis was silent, and for a moment, so was Ares. He considered rushing out to find his lighter, but remained in place and looked at the other male once more. "There was a time, not too long ago, when I would have been glad of such an...arrangement. When I might have even sought it out on my own. But that time is past.

"No, Traxis, you are not wrong about me. Nor are you incorrect when you say I do not know you very well. But I know enough of you to understand that you consider yourself a tool, and any," his mouth quirked, "recreation we could enjoy now would only be one of two things in your mind. A payment for services rendered, or..."

He paused, and Traxis' eyes narrowed. "Or what?"

Ares looked into those light brown eyes that almost looked gold in the dim light of the engine room. "A distraction."

"Nothing wrong with a distraction, under the right circumstances."

"Perhaps not, for most." Ares sighed again and pocketed his cigarra. "But I've had enough distractions in my life, enough so that it's been a challenge to keep to the right path. I find I do not want any more distractions, now. I am sorry," he finished, looking at Traxis once more. "Believe me, it is not easy to turn you down, when you so easily, ah, corrode my resolve."

Confusion crossed Traxis' face, along with a deep flush, but both faded after a moment, and he nodded briskly. "I can live with a rejection like that."

"I am glad to hear it."

Ares indicated the hatch, but Traxis didn't move. Instead, the armored man looked down at his boots while his gloved fingertips toyed with his cheek, where the most pitted portions of the scar lived. "I don't mean to be so..."

"Persistent?"

A smile ghosted across the soldier's face. "I was going to say karking annoying. But 'persistent' sounds nicer."

Ares shrugged, mostly to conceal the tell-tale twitch of  _tchun,_ his left  _lek._ "Persistence is an admirable trait – under the right circumstances."

He'd hoped to coax another smile from the clone, but Traxis nodded absently, eyes distant. "You're right. I'm not...at my best, right now."

A few words came to Ares, but he held them firmly behind his teeth. It was one of his better qualities, he'd been told: knowing what to say and when not to say it.

Sure enough, after a few moments, the scarred soldier's head dipped again. "What Kali said...I didn't want to believe it."

His voice was quiet and heavy, and Ares didn't have to ask what he spoke of. He'd seen all the clones' faces when the dark-haired Jedi had broken the news about their dead brother. As to the sensing of the other clone in the Force – it seemed no one was discussing that for now. One problem at a time, perhaps.

Ares placed a hand on Traxis' forearm; the plastoid was cool beneath his glove, a marked contrast from the man it shielded. "I am sorry for what you have lost, Traxis."

The scarred man looked away, eyes closing briefly. "It's my fault."

"It is common to blame oneself when a tragedy occurs, especially when–"

"No," Traxis growled, jerking his arm away from Ares and jabbing his chestplate with his thumb. "You don't kriffing understand. I  _wished_  he would be killed, not reconditioned. It's  _my_  fekking fault."

Ares turned over the words, but didn't quite suss out their meaning. "What does it mean, 'reconditioned?'"

"It's a term the long-necks – the Kaminoans who created us clones – came up with. Sort of like a 'factory reset.' It means..." Traxis inhaled deeply. "It means they fekking... _erase_ your memories, everything about you that makes you,  _you_. All the experience a clone gains, his fardling  _identity_...it's gone. He has to start over."

It was too horrific for words. Ares was at a loss for a moment before he was able to speak. "The Kaminoans truly have this...ability?"

Traxis gave a bitter laugh. "Yeah. That's the fekking joke of it all. We clones  _are_ tools, Ares. We can be modified or disposed of, whichever suits their needs – same as your transponder codes."

A chill swept over Ares as he looked back at his beloved engine, humming diligently. He heard a soft  _thud_ and thought Traxis had opened the hatch to leave, but when he looked back at the clone, he saw that Traxis had merely leaned his shoulder against the bulkhead. His eyes were closed and his face was twisted with grief, though the moment he realized he was being watched, he straightened. The grief retreated, replaced with a scowl.

"All a clone has are his memories. Without them, he really is just cannon-fodder."

Ares nodded slowly, all thoughts of the cigarra firmly pushed out of his mind. He was starting to understand, though he wished he didn't. "In your mind, then, death is preferable to reconditioning?"

Traxis sighed again. "Yeah. Fekking twisted  _osik,_ isn't it?"

Neither spoke for a few moments while Ares processed all he'd just learned. At last, he shook his head, his  _lekku_ swaying against his shoulders. "That is, without a doubt, the most depressing thing I have heard in a long while."

To his surprise – and pleasure – Traxis gave a grim smile. "Stellar. Do I get a prize?"

"A prize? You are incorrigible."

Traxis rolled his eyes, though Ares did not miss the faint smirk he was trying to hide. "That's not what I meant. Get your effing mind out of the gutter."

Ares allowed himself a grin in return as he activated the hatch so they could leave the engine room. "You first, my friend."


	26. Chapter Twenty-Five

Note: This chapter references my fic,  _What Remains._ Please also remember that  _Fearless_ supersedes the events of the _Eye of the Storm_  trilogy.

Lyrics: ["Throw Me A Rope," by KT Tunstall, from  _Acoustic Extravaganza._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZSh-lojeVqo&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp&index=26)

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

_And whenever you go,_

_It's like holding my breath underwater._

_I have to admit_

_That I kind of like it when I do._

_Oh, but I've got to be unconditionally_

_Unafraid of my days without you._

Even before Kali opened her eyes again, she heard the sound of moving water. The trickle left a faint melody pattering at the edges of her mind, which was odd, because as far as she knew, there was no moving water aboard the  _Stark Raven._ Confused, she blinked a few times, only to realize she was not aboard a ship hurtling through hyperspace, but in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, in the Room of a Thousand Fountains.

Very strange. She'd not thought about the place in months, let alone visited it. And the last time she had, it'd been markedly different than it appeared now. Simulated sunlight dappled her arms and the grass beneath them, and she had to squint against the powerful lamps that were situated high, high in the cavernous room. Something tickled her ear; evergrass, imported from Alderaan, was a rich shade of green, and soft enough to lay comfortably upon.

Slowly, she sat up and tried to get her bearings. True to its name, the Room of a Thousand Fountains contained, if not a thousand fountains, then close to that number. Though quite a few were fashioned from bricks and mortar, even more were meant to mimic natural formations in rock or soil. It was beside one of these that she had been lying, close enough so that the end of her braid was submerged in a pool of rippling water.

Absently, Kali pulled the end close and squeezed the damp from her hair, still looking around in confusion. Most likely this was a dream; she'd had her share of odd ones before, though never quite this lucid.

It was peaceful here, at least. Aside from fountains, there were innumerable trees, bushes and shrubs that filled the space, creating an oasis of green among the gray and beige uniformity that otherwise filled the Temple. Like most Jedi raised here, Kali had always loved this room. She'd even brought Stone here a few times–

A wave of anguish engulfed her and she lowered her head. Even in her dreams, she could not escape reality.

 _Stonewall,_ she thought, pressing a hand to her aching heart,  _I'm sorry. I'm so sorry._

Someone sniffed. It was a quiet sound, but close, and it did not come from her. Who else would be in  _her_ dream? Kali glanced up but saw no one. Curious, and eager for a new line of thinking, she got to her feet to get a better look around. A sharp ache in her left knee made her gasp even as she tried to ignore it; her bum knee protested most activities, but she'd learned how to live with the pain.

Now standing, Kali saw the source of the sniffling noise. A young girl dressed in Padawan robes sat beside a draping willow tree, knees folded, head bent so that her dark hair fell on either side of her face, thus shielding it from view. Even so, she looked familiar...

 _Surely not,_ Kali thought, frowning.  _That's a little too existential, even for a dream._

She took a few steps toward the girl. "Hello there. Are you alright?"

The girl turned to her and smoothed the hair from her face, and Kali sighed with resignation at the sight of her teenaged self looking back up at her.  _Of-kriffing-course._

But Kali-the-younger did not seem to recognize her older self. Her brows knit and she stood up, clearly trying to act as though she'd been engrossed in meditation, though it was obvious she'd been crying. "I'm fine, thanks."

Kali regarded her younger self, trying to place an age. Thirteen, she thought, though it was difficult to say. Jedi robes were timeless in that way. She took a step forward, but her knee seized up in pain and she let out a hiss, leaning against a nearby boulder to steady herself.

Kali-the-younger's dark eyes widened and she stood up. "Are  _you_ alright? Do you need a Healer?"

Kali chuckled mirthlessly. "No, and no, thanks. They can't do anything for me."

"Oh." Her younger self studied her, frowning. "This is going to sound completely thermal, but are we, er...the same person?"

"I believe so," Kali said, adding the best bow her knee would allow. "Dreams are a pain in the ass, sometimes, aren't they?"

Kali-the-younger laughed outright, and gave a graceful bow. "Nice to meet you, Dream-Older-Me."

"You as well, kiddo."

The girl giggled again, though her eyes flickered to Kali's knee. "What happened? Did you get hurt?"

Even though it was a dream, Kali wasn't sure what sort of reply to give. As she was trying to decide, a voice she'd not heard in over two decades reached her, and she froze in place, pinned with shock and the remembrance of a longing so sharp it could cut.

"Kali?"

Her younger self sighed heavily and gave Kali a wry look. "At least you know who that is, right? I don't have to call him 'Master' in front of you. But he might wonder why I'm talking to myself." Without waiting for a response, she turned and called back. "We're over here."

A male, Human Jedi stepped around the willow tree, white-blond hair practically glowing in the "sunlight." He sounded a little exasperated. "'We?' What are you doing? We're going to be late for the picture..."

He trailed off when he caught sight of both Jedi Knight and Padawan versions of his daughter, and frowned. "Kali?"

Both Kalis exchanged glances, and Kali was pleased to see her younger self grin mischievously. "Yes, Dad?" both replied, in unison.

Nothing seemed to faze Jonas Ki. He rolled his blue eyes, though his amusement faded when he studied his teenaged daughter. "You've been crying."

Kali-the-younger shrugged, and toyed with the hem of her tunic. "Only a little," she said at last. "Just thinking about...her."

Thirteen. Of course. Kali leaned her weight against the boulder and tried not to seem like she needed the support. "You met Kamala?" she asked her younger self.

Kali-the-younger looked at her older self. "I only just met my mother last week, and now she's dead. Some stupid disease killed her, and he," she pointed an accusing finger at Jonas, "doesn't even care!"

A pained look crossed her father's face, but his words were calm. "We discussed this. You must not let your emotions rule your behavior."

"You're one to talk, Dad!" the teenager shot back.

Jonas took a deep breath, and his hands clenched into fists beneath his robes. "Kali, lower your voice."

"Who cares? This is just a stupid dream." Kali-the-younger sniffed again, and swiped her eyes with her sleeve.

Jonas shot Kali a lifted brow, as if sharing a joke, and her heart tightened at the wry look on his face. How often had she wished she could see it in the years since his death? Odd as this dream was, she was immeasurably grateful for the chance just to see him again. Especially now.

"Be that as it may," he said to the teenager, "I'd rather you didn't shout such things. As a general rule of thumb."

But Kali-the-younger would have none of it. Her jaw tightened and her face flushed as she crossed her arms before her chest, glaring at her – at  _their_ – father. "Whatever. You're still a hypocrite. You tell me not to let my emotions control me, but you so obviously did. How else did I wind up here?"

"Kali..."

"Or did you ever care about her at all? Was it just...a one-night stand?"

Jonas frowned. "Where did you hear about one-night stands?"

"The HoloNet, probably," Kali supplied. "All kinds of useful information there." She didn't mention the trove of romance holonovels she'd gotten a hold of at eleven, which had been  _most_ educational. Some secrets should stay that way.

Her father rubbed his forehead and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a curse, though in the next moment he'd found his calm. He looked back at Kali-the-younger, but it was not with one of those stern expressions that showed he was not to be trifled with. No, his face was open and filled with pain.

"Is that what you think?" he said quietly, stepping closer to the teenager. "That I didn't care about your mother? That I don't care she's gone?"

Kali-the-younger shrugged. "It seems like nothing ever bothers you."

Jonas put a hand on Kali-the-younger's cheek, drawing her eyes to his. "It seems that way because I'm very good at pretending."

"Jedi aren't supposed to pretend," the teenager whispered. "Jedi aren't supposed to get sad, or angry, or fall in love."

Jonas gave her a sad smile. "But they do." He turned his impossibly blue eyes to Kali. "Don't they?"

Her breath caught in her chest, and speech failed her. She tried to push herself off of the boulder and approach her father, but her stupid,  _shabla_ knee burned, and she cried out in pain as she collapsed to the soft grass. Pain clouded her mind and darkened her vision. The next thing she knew, Jonas knelt at her side, one hand resting on her cheek, the other on her aching knee. They were still in the Room of a Thousand Fountains, but the light wasn't as bright and her younger self was gone.

"It hurts," she told her father, blinking against the burning in her eyes.

"I know."

"Why does it always hurt?"

He stroked his thumb over her cheek. "It hurts because you never let go of the pain. You let it define who you are. You allow it to control each step."

She was torn between joy at just hearing his voice again, and grief for...well, everything else. She could not choose which to feel. "I'm sorry, Dad. I've tried...I really have."

Her father smiled a sad smile. His hand upon her knee was warm and strong; the pain did not recede at his touch, but looking into his eyes made it a bit more bearable. "You have to try a little harder now, Kali," he said quietly, his gaze flickering toward her belly. "For your child's sake, and your own."

Kali's lips parted in surprise even as her face heated. "You...know?"

Jonas offered her another of his wry looks. "This is just a dream, remember?"

"Right." She sniffed and swiped at her eyes, then met her father's gaze again. "It's still really good to see you."

"You too," he replied. "I love you, Kali. I never loved anyone even a little bit like I loved you."

Again, his words struck her into silence. This was all a dream; this was no reality that had ever been. But she knew the words were true, anyway, and they poured into her as equal parts sorrow and joy. There was no peace within her; she could not speak for the emotions warring within her heart.

"Some Jedi we are," she managed.

To her delight, he chuckled. "You're a better Jedi than you believe." His face turned serious once more. "But now you must be stronger than you've ever been."

Fear tugged at her heart, and she could see the shadows closing around them. "I don't know if I can do this without him."

He kissed her forehead. "You have to, kiddo."

* * *

When Kali opened her eyes again, she was in the  _Stark Raven'_ s cabin. There was a faint impression in the bunk and she vaguely remembered Zara lying beside her, but she was alone now. The cabin's lights were on, but dimmed low, and there was a bottle of water next to her hand, along with a bottle of supplements – probably courtesy of her former Padawan.

She sat up slowly, still not quite ready to believe the dream was over. Her hand sought the end of her braid; it was dry, but she didn't know if that was a relief or not. She could still hear her father's voice, still feel his hand on her knee, and took a deep, shuddering breath to stave off the memories. Many times had she dreamed about him, but none had been so real. It was as unsettling as it was wonderful.

Her chrono was nowhere to be found, so she was not sure how much time had passed. It didn't much matter; one of the others would come for her when she was needed. Besides, she needed a few moments to collect herself.

There was work to be done, after all.

Kali curled her knees beneath her and set her palms in her lap, and took a few more deep breaths. Calm. She needed to be calm if she was going to pull this off.

Before, when she'd first realized that Milo had contacted his brothers – somehow – it had occurred to her that the only way to find Milo's location on Kamino was through the tenuous connection that had – somehow – formed between them. Although that understanding had faded in the wake of her grief at Stonewall's death, she was Milo's only hope of rescue. Brave and capable his brothers may be, but Kamino was a karking big place, and Milo was one man on the storm world's surface.

_Inhale. Exhale._

Sorrow clung to each moment, but she did not fight it or try to push it aside. She would mourn the man she loved every day for the rest of her life, but she could not, would not, sully his memory with bitterness. It would be better to try and make something good to fill the empty place his absence had wrought.

It may have been minutes, or hours. Kali relaxed into the currents of the Force, allowing them to carry her where she needed to be. At first, she sensed the others aboard the ship; the threads that bound her to them varied in strength and brightness, but all were tangible. She paused only to marvel at the new threads that had formed between Jedi, clone, and their pilot.

She pushed on, outward. One thread was faint, strung from her heart, from the hearts of Crest, Weave and Traxis, reaching across the stars to Kamino.  _Milo_. Kali extended her awareness to the youngest member of her team and found him dim, growing dimmer, fraying with fear and pain. She could not tell why he felt this way, only that it grew worse with each moment.

Had she been a better Jedi, a stronger Jedi, this might have been easier, but she was only Kali. She tried to make it work, even if she was not sure he would understand. She tried to layer her own calm over Milo, to shelter him like armor.

Udesii _, Milo. We're coming for you,_ vod _. Your brothers and I are coming for you. Please try to hang on. Help is coming._


	27. Chapter Twenty-Six

Lyrics:[ "One Of These Mornings," by Moby, on  _18._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hqxbSggZ-vI&index=27&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp)

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

_One of these mornings,_

_Won't be very long,_

_You will look for me,_

_And I'll be gone._

_Elsewhere..._

Lord Tyranus' coordinates brought Shadow to the Outer Rim. Outland Station limped above an uninhabited planetoid, itself caught in the orbit of an unnamed, asteroid-scarred world. According to the HoloNet, there had been some sort of skirmish here about a decade ago involving Jango Fett, of all people, which had left Outland Station in disarray. Great chunks of the space outpost were missing. The entertainment district sat dark and silent, and the trading center known as Merchant's Row was, apparently, a ghost of its former self. But the outpost was so far removed from the rest of the galaxy, it was clear why it had not been repaired.

This was also evident in the type of beings Shadow observed once he disembarked, abandoning the Kaminoan vessel in the docking area. The air stank of fuel, old cigarras and a dozen different unwashed species. The Force confirmed what his senses showed him; Outland Station was rife with bounty hunters, smugglers, and a host of other miscreants, thieves and criminals. The dregs of civilization.

Merchant's Row consisted of a vast, circular walkway ringed with shops and kiosks of all sorts. At a glance, Shadow saw everything from airspeeders to armor to in-no-way-legal weapons. The latter two were tempting, as he had only his bodyglove and vibrosword, but he thought it wise to keep to his namesake and remain unseen, at least until he received his next set of orders. The Republic roundel would stand out, and his face would probably be recognized by one of these karks. Getting into a needless conflict would only waste time. Fortunately, the bustling station offered perfect concealment; there were too many beings too caught up in their own business to pay any mind to the shadows.

The Force was also his ally. Despite the holes in his memories, his time on Kamino had proved he could wield the energy like a favored blaster. He'd tested his Force abilities again when he'd managed to pry off his collar during the journey out here. So Shadow wrapped himself and his vibrosword within the Force, thus turning the eyes of would-be assailants the other way, and stole through the corridors.

Along with the coordinates he'd been given, there was an alphanumeric sequence that did not fit with the rest, which puzzled him at first. Only when he happened to pass a flickering holo-map of Merchant's Row did he understand.

Shadow made his way to the Outland Trading Post, nothing more than a dimly-lit space housing rows upon rows of personal lockers that could be rented by anyone with a few creds. The trading post was not as crowded as the rest of Merchant's Row, which worked to Shadow's advantage, this time. There was no one here at all.

It took him a moment to find the locker that the coordinates had referred to, on a bottom row, stuck in the far corner of the space. Kneeling, Shadow punched the remaining numbers into the lock-panel. Excitement coiled in his gut at what he would find within the locker. Hopefully a decent blaster, probably some sort of armor. He felt a bit naked with only a body-glove and vibrosword. The lock-panel blinked green and he pulled out the metal drawer to find...

A kriffing comlink.

Frowning, Shadow felt around the locker's edges, top and bottom, but it was otherwise empty. He sighed and picked up the comlink. It was an older model, capable of sending and receiving only written messages – no voice transmissions or holos.

_Well, kriff._

The indicator light at the comlink's top was blinking, so he activated the device. Immediately, a new series of coordinates flitted across the screen, along with a message, and his annoyance fled as he read his orders.

_Commandeer transport and necessary supplies. Proceed to the following location: City of Ankhela, planet Iktotch, Narvath Sector. Locate the Iktotchi, Omree Taro. Eliminate. Send confirmation once objective is complete. Further instructions will follow. NOTE: Objective will only be successful if operative's identity remains anonymous._

Shadow smirked at the note. Did it count if  _he_ wasn't entirely sure of his identity? He considered the mission as he stowed the comlink in a hidden pocket of his body-glove. Unorthodox, to be sure, but nothing seemed truly amiss. The name "Omree Taro" was only vaguely familiar; perhaps Shadow had had dealings with this being Before, but of course he couldn't remember. The message itself was encrypted as a Republic transmission, though he could not identify its source.

It was annoying that he'd not been given weapons or armor, but this mission was a test, after all.

He slipped out of the trading post, but did not yet make his way back to the hangar as he considered his next move. Now, Shadow watched the miscreants of Merchant's Row with new eyes. He needed a Human – or similarly-built Near-Human – about his height, who wore proper armor that concealed the face. Preferably someone with a fast ship.

Targets were swiftly spotted and immediately discarded until Shadow caught sight of a Kiffar man, holding a helmet in the crook of his arm as he examined an array of modded blaster pistols. He wore battered full-body armor that looked as though it'd been pieced together over the years; most of the plating was a dark, dull gray, but a few odd bits of black, crimson and light gray stood out. The helmet was bulky, with a transparent yellow visor that would show far too much of Shadow's face for his liking, but he didn't see any better options.

The area was too crowded to risk an attack, but Shadow was patient. He kept out of sight, watched and waited, gauging his potential target and weighing the pros and cons. The Kiffar's fate was sealed when he purchased two pistols, which Shadow could see contained highly illegal mods but looked fekking sweet to shoot.

Transaction concluded, the Kiffar man stowed his purchases in his holster and made his way to the docking area, nodding to a few folks he passed, though his yellow-circled eyes constantly swept the area around him. Each step was filled with caution. This was a man who had learned not to let down his guard, and judging by the tattered scar on his cheek, he'd learned this lesson the hard way.

Confident in himself and the Force, Shadow followed silently.

Shadow's target strode through the station's maze of corridors until he reached the docking section, though it was far from where Shadow had left the Kaminoan vessel. When Shadow caught sight of the disk-shaped light freighter, a thrill of excitement moved through him. Even though he wasn't an expert on ships – well, not that he knew, at any rate – he thought this one would suit his purposes. It looked small enough to be piloted by only one person, and it appeared to be in decent shape.

Decision made, Shadow crouched behind a stack of barrels that stank of coolant, and peered through the slit to watch his prey. The immediate area was empty, but he had no way of knowing how long it would stay that way, or if his target had any friends aboard the vessel. When Shadow made a move, he would have to be quick.

The Kiffar reached the raised boarding ramp, lifted his arm to his mouth and muttered something into his wrist-comm; a few moments later, hydraulics whined as the ramp was lowered, and the Kiffar man took a step forward.

But his boot did not land. Shadow called upon the Force and crossed the few meters between them in a heartbeat. Wrapping one hand around his target's mouth, the other around the back of his head, Shadow gave a sharp tug on his prey's neck until he heard the satisfying snap of bone and tendon, and the Kiffar man crumpled wordlessly in his arms.

There was no time to waste. The kark was heavy, but Shadow was stronger, and able to drag the armored dead man aboard the ship, leaving him in the airlock for the time being. Luckily, there was no one waiting for the Kiffar in the immediate area, so Shadow activated the hatch to close it, and took a moment to extend his awareness.

As far as he could tell, only one other being remained aboard the vessel, in the cockpit, naturally. A faint chirrup caught Shadow's attention. He glanced at the dead man's blinking wrist-comm and frowned. If the pilot got suspicious and raised an alarm, the whole op could go to hell.

Shadow hurried to the helm, keeping his steps silent, though he did not spare energy on using the Force to conceal his presence. Once he killed the pilot, no one else would know he was here.

The ship's corridors were relatively spacious, despite a few pieces of clutter. From what he could tell, the vessel was outfitted for a bounty hunter, or at least for someone used to carrying dangerous living cargo, given the secure brig he had to pass on his way to the helm. There were other signs that the ship's owners lived here. At one point, Shadow had to pass beneath a line of clothing stretched across the cargo bay, covered in drying laundry. Whoever used this ship called it home.

After a few wrong turns, Shadow reached the cockpit just in time to see the door hiss open and a figure emerge. He ducked behind a nearby bulkhead and held still, waiting.

A woman's voice called, "Dorr? Did your comm go out again? I  _told_ you to get a new one."

No one answered. She gave a long-suffering sigh and began grumbling to herself; the sound of her boots against the floor indicated she was turning back for the helm, so Shadow took a chance. He stepped out from behind the bulkhead and saw a Human woman making her way back to the cockpit. She was dark-skinned, probably in her mid-thirties and petite, even for a female, but it wouldn't have made a difference if she was a Wookiee. Shadow would make her death as swift as her companion's.

Then she turned.

Dark brown eyes fell upon him, but in that moment he saw another woman behind them. A face he recognized but did not know caught in the edges of his memory, held in place by a few, fraying threads. The face from his memory was paler than the one glaring at him, but he could see it as clearly as if whoever belonged to it stood within his reach.

Stunned, Shadow took a step backward, trying to find a mental toehold against the unwanted image, though all he got was more confused. Along with the strange woman's face, he saw the fardling wall in his mind's eye and understood that it and the woman's face were connected, but beyond that...he didn't know.

Dark eyes. He knew those eyes. But how? And whom did they belong to?

"Who the fek are you?" the woman snarled, lifting a blaster he'd not noticed and urging him back to the present.

Shadow shook away the memory and frowned at his own sloppiness. Being sloppy was a good way to end up dead. "No one of consequence."

She was stronger than she looked, but she was still no match for him. It only took him a few moves to wrench the blaster from her fingers and press the muzzle to her temple, and she, too, crumpled at his feet, dark eyes wide and sightless. The sight disturbed him more than it should have, but he didn't know what to make of the feeling, so he tried to forget it while he prepped the ship. Neither the woman nor the man had the time or ability to alert whatever passed for the law around here, so there was no one to stop him as he piloted the freighter away from Outland. Nor was there anyone to stop their bodies from drifting through space once he'd discarded them out the airlock.

At least the armor fit fairly well. It was no clone kit, but it would suffice. However, the newly-purchased blasters were kriffing gorgeous and the ship was stocked with provisions, so this first part of his mission was definitely a success.

Shadow set the navacomputer for Iktotch, and the ship leaped into hyperspace.

* * *

Naturally, Palpatine received the alert between meetings. As he strode through the carpeted corridors of the Senate, he glanced at his personal datapad and noted the time-stamp on the confirmation. The clone had activated the comlink a few hours ago. Good enough.

It would have been preferable to have a more reliable way of keeping tabs on the clone, but this would have to do. Until he had a better idea of how useful this new operative would be, he was unwilling to risk any sort of true connection with the Force-sensitive clone, at least for now. Better to let Dooku handle the minutiae – again, for now.

Palpatine exhaled quietly as he walked. Patience, he told himself, would allow him to emerge victorious, and meticulous planning would win the day.

Flanked by his Umbaran aide and one of the ubiquitous Coruscant Guards, he stepped into the turbolift and waited while Sly Moore entered the code that would take them to the level that housed his office. The 'lift hummed beneath his feet, and he glanced over the 'pad again, but his thoughts refused to move forward.

Creon Dai's research was intriguing, though the scientist himself had outlived his usefulness. The ability to manipulate Force-sensitives to this degree presented a wealth of opportunities Palpatine had not previously considered. Also intriguing was the long-term stability of a Force-sensitive clone, though it still niggled at him that no one seemed to know  _how_ such a thing came to be. Through his studies he'd seen evidence that the Force could be stolen or siphoned away from a hapless being, but not truly spread, like a virus. The idea was vulgar.

If a mere clone could gain access to the Force, how many more lesser beings could follow suite? Inwardly, he frowned. Perhaps it would be best to kill it now, and save himself future trouble.

But there were a few loose ends the clone could tie off, which would be helpful. Palpatine had an infinite to-do list scrolling through his mind, after all. The clone could still make itself useful; if it was killed, it would be no great loss. If it was discovered or captured, what meager ties connected it to anyone all led to "Lord Tyranus." Either way, Palpatine had nothing to lose.

Decision made, he turned his attention to other matters.

The 'lift dinged, depositing them on the correct floor. As was his custom, Palpatine allowed the Coruscant Guard to exit first and check for would-be assailants, then he and Sly stepped into the corridor.


	28. Chapter Twenty-Seven

Lyrics:[ "Swim" by Madonna, from  _Ray Of Light._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3L2_lM_15pI&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp&index=28)

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

_We can't carry these sins on our backs,_

_Don't wanna carry anymore._

_We're gonna carry this train off the track,_

_We're gonna swim to the ocean floor._

_Later..._

Honi lifted her chin. "You are dangerously close to wasting my time, Lieutenant."

To his credit, the small hologram of the clone officer did not wince. "My apologies, sir," he said crisply. "But it is SOP to run all transponder codes from ships seeking landing clearance through our system. Kamino must be kept safe."

"Do not lecture me on the importance of Kamino," Honi shot back, allowing her eyes to flicker to the fully armored clones who flanked her. "I am well-aware of that fact."

She stood in the cockpit of the  _Stark Raven._ As "transportation specialist," in his own words, Tabora sat silently in the pilot's seat, while Traxis – fully armored as well – sat beside him. Crest and Weave acted as Honi's clone escorts, and all played their parts well.

The clone lieutenant gave a slight bow. "Perhaps, General Tallis, if you could share the nature of your mission..."

Honi glared at him. "Classified. As I've said. Multiple times. Are you defective?"

Behind her, Kalinda hissed in disapproval. "Tone it down."

Her former Master and current apprentice were also in the cockpit, though neither was visible to the naked eye – or any life form scanners that the Star Destroyer  _Sentinel_  was currently employing. Kalinda had thought to erect her Force-shield before the  _Stark Raven_ had exited hyperspace, which was a good thing, as they'd been scanned the moment they returned to realspace. It had been fascinating to watch her former Master disappear beneath a rippling curtain of Force-energy, and Honi resolved to learn the trick once she had a moment.

The shield was necessary in more ways than one. Kalinda was a known fugitive; if she was spotted, it would likely mean a quick end to her self-appointed mission. Zara, on the other hand, had a clear record, and Honi hoped to keep it that way. Though, she wasn't sure how much good she could do if Zara had also abandoned her post at the Temple.

 _Like Master, like Padawan_ , so the old saying went. Honi had never believed the adage, but was starting to realize there was some truth to the words.

So she tried to find her calm and let the lieutenant's fixation on her mission roll off of her, as she thought Kalinda would have done.  _Focus on the task at hand._  "Forgive me, Lieutenant," she said quietly. "It has been a long journey. My men and I are ready to put hyperspace behind us and begin the real work."

The lieutenant – she'd not caught his name – nodded, and Honi was gratified to see that his face had smoothed over. Something caught his attention and he glanced down at the datapad in his hand. "Your transponder codes have cleared. You're free to proceed."

Honi nodded as the Twi'lek began to ease the ship forward; she caught a flare of satisfaction from him, along with relief. Without saying a word of farewell, the lieutenant signed off, and his image vanished from the holoprojector. Kamino filled Honi's vision; a marbled sphere of blue and white, with great swathes of iron gray storm clouds..

Traxis glanced at Tabora. "What the fek kind of transponder code was that?"

"The expensive kind," was Tabora's reply. "Though I must say I am relieved to know it is still valid."

"Me too," Kalinda's disembodied voice replied. It had been decided that she and Zara should stay shielded until they'd landed. To Honi, she said, "It seems like your clearance is also still active."

It had been about twelve hours since Honi had left the Temple; she didn't think her absence would be missed for another rotation, at least. Very often she would lock herself in the lab, working all hours of the night.

If – when – she was deemed missing, Honi was not sure what would happen to her own standing in the Jedi Order. She'd been serious before, when she'd told Kalinda she would probably not get into overmuch trouble, but now she wondered... Mace Windu had thought to come to her and ask about Kalinda; her current absence meant it was likely that he would assume she was aiding her former Master in some way.

 _But we are not captives of the Order_ , she reminded herself.  _We are not prisoners. We are free to come and go from the Temple as we wish, and there is only so much punishment the Council can bestow._

So she merely nodded, but kept her eyes ahead, on the planet that drew ever closer. "Let's not celebrate just yet. We still have to locate Milo."

"Right," Kalinda said. "Just give me one moment."

As she spoke, Kalinda's Force-presence flickered with sorrow, but the feeling was quashed almost at once, subsumed in the never-ending well of determination that she seemed to posses. Honi had often thought her former Master could have made a skilled Healer; she did not know when to stop fighting, which was, in Honi's experience, a necessary qualification for those who battled to save lives.

She felt Kalinda gather the Force, felt her former Master reach out to sense the clone in question, and for a few moments, the only sound was the hum of the ship's engines and the intermittent beep of sensors. Honi wondered if the clones would grow distressed at the lack of words from their general, but to their credit, they seemed calm. No, not exactly calm, at least not below the surface. The clones were each a roil of anxiety, fear and anger, though said emotions were guarded behind walls of determination and resolve to complete this mission.

Except Weave. He was not calm, nor was he without apprehension. Rather, his mind was working, turning over the issues at hand and mulling over the next three, four, five steps in their task. She was pleased with what she found within him, as they would need such thoroughness in the very near future.

Honi turned her observations from the medic to her Padawan. Zara was all bated breath and barely-leashed excitement; this was one of the first dangerous missions she and Honi had been on, and she was eager to put herself to the test. Honi sighed, reluctantly thankful Zara had come along, to help Kalinda, but mostly annoyed that she now had to watch over the girl in addition to the actual mission. But that was the entire point of teaching a Padawan, wasn't it?

After a few minutes, Tabora shifted in his chair, casting a glance over his shoulder at the place Kalinda was, though her shield was still raised. "Is she...okay?"

"This is normal," Traxis said. "She's doing her Jedi-thing."

"You get used to it," Weave added.

The Twi'lek glanced forward once more. "As you say. Though I cannot help but worry if that Star Destroyer is going to change its mind about us."

"I think they believed General Tallis' bluff," Crest replied. "But still...try to fly casual."

Only part of Honi's attention was on the conversation. She studied Kalinda's Force-presence, assessing her former Master for weakness, because so much of their plan relied upon the dark-haired Jedi. Kalinda had been insistent that she could handle both using her shield to this degree and tracking Milo, but Honi was resolved to keep an eye on her, nevertheless.

At last, Kalinda exhaled. "It's a faint feeling, but I can sense him." At her request, their Twi'lek pilot called up a map of Kamino so she could give specific directions.

"Timira City?" Weave said, a frown in his voice. "Are you sure?"

"Not even in the actual city, by the look of it," Crest added. "Somewhere on the outskirts."

"I'm sure," Kalinda replied. "Ares, please hurry. He's...hurt or something."

This made Honi and Weave both snap to attention. "He's injured?" Weave asked, glancing at his general. "How badly? In what way?"

Kalinda's Force-presence rippled with agitation. "I can't tell exactly, but it's not good."

"Why didn't you say so before?" Honi asked.

"Would it have mattered? We couldn't go any faster in hyperspace, and I didn't want anyone to be distressed while we were trying to get through the blockade."

"Well, now that we have a definite location, we can truly make haste." Tabora nudged something on the console, and Kamino loomed closer; soon they were skimming over the clouds. They dropped through sheets of filmy white and gray, and emerged into a storm. The ocean surged beneath them, but Honi hardly noticed, for they were making a direct heading toward a collection of flattish pods raised above the waves on stilts, standing strong against the onslaught of sea and wind.

To the side of these, somewhat separated, was a single pod. Their destination.

Honi had never been to Kamino, but she'd seen pictures of Tipoca City and knew something of what to expect. Timira City looked smaller, but more or less the same. There was a wide landing platform, though oddly it was surrounded by an energy-shield, and the pod itself looked as though it had seen better days; there were sections that were not as white and pristine as others, and a few missing panels.

"Shouldn't we have been hailed by now?" Zara asked softly.

Tabora glanced at his controls, brow wrinkled. "You're right, young lady. That is troubling."

"No kidding," Crest muttered.

Kalinda and Zara materialized, standing to one side of the cockpit. The dark-haired Jedi frowned at the compound as they approached, and moved to stand behind Ares' chair. "I don't know. I don't sense any hostility. I don't sense...anything."

A brush with the Force confirmed Kalinda's words. "Me either," Honi said. "Very odd."

She and Kalinda exchanged glances, then the other Jedi shook her head. "The plan is the same. Ares; can you land on that platform?"

"I would not be much of a pilot if I could not, would I?" His voice held a trace of teasing. Honi frowned in annoyance, but she caught Kalinda's faint smile, and sighed inwardly. She would never truly understand her former Master's sense of humor.

Within a few minutes, the  _Stark Raven_ had touched down onto the duracrete platform, hydraulics hissing as the ship settled. Tabora did something to the controls, and the humming engines ceased their noise, leaving only the sound of drumming rain that pattered over the transparisteel viewport.

Everyone looked at Kalinda, but her eyes were closed. "This is very strange," she murmured. "I can't sense any guards or anyone...official. No one seems to know we're here."

Her eyes opened and she regarded her men, whose blank T-visors looked back at her. "But that's good for us, right?" Crest asked.

"It's a symptom of...something," Weave replied, shaking his head. "Probably something not good. But I don't know exactly what."

Traxis abruptly stood up, a weapon in his hand. "Enough  _shabla_  talk. Let's find our brother."

* * *

Kalinda stood at the edge of the  _Raven's_ loading ramp and inhaled the scent of the sea. For a moment, she allowed the memories and emotions that salty smell elicited to fill her mind, then she exhaled, releasing them into the Force so she could focus on the thread that bound her to Milo.

True to its name, this part of the planet had offered a storm to its visitors, but Kali hardly noticed the wind and rain. She, Honi and Zara all had their cloaks, and the guys felt no discomfort from beneath their armor. If anything, she was glad of the storm, for it masked their presence that much more.

Already on the platform, Crest and Weave stood with Honi and Zara. Weave had his medic-pack slung over his shoulder, and Kali could sense Honi gathering her strength in preparation for dealing with whatever condition Milo was in. Zara seemed nervous, but determined not to screw anything up, and Kali had to suppress a smile; too well did she understand that feeling.

She glanced back at Traxis, who stood between her and Ares. The Twi'lek had elected to stay with his ship while the others retrieved Milo, and Kali could see Traxis debating his own next move. He'd taken his "mission" to watch Ares rather seriously, though it was not all business. Despite this, he did not seem to fully trust their pilot, which Kali could not blame him for. In truth, she didn't think his presence in Timira City was necessary. They would not need much in the way of firepower; there was nothing here that suggested a threat and Traxis had only a rudimentary understanding of healing.

But it was his decision, and she thought he would want to be near Milo as soon as possible. So she tilted her head in inquiry. His indecision wavered before he nodded to the Twi'lek and began to head toward Kali.

"If you leave us stranded, Tabora," he called over his shoulder, "I'll be fekking pissed."

"Perish the thought," Ares replied, leaning against the bulkhead. He glanced at Kali. "Comm me if you need anything I can provide. I'll keep the engines warm in the interim."

Kali flashed him a smile, and turned to head toward the others, Traxis on her heels. When she reached the group, she indicated they should come closer. "I don't sense anyone hostile in the immediate area, but it might be a good idea to play it stealthy for the moment."

The guys shifted closer, though she felt Weave's speculative gaze without seeing his face. He was worried she'd overdo it, but kept his silence.

Honi did no such thing.

"You can manage this,  _and_  sense Milo?"

Kali regarded her former Padawan from beneath the cowl of her brown robe, which whipped around her legs and torso from the force of the wind. She loved Honi, but the younger woman's abrasive attitude left a bit to be desired at times. "Yes. I can also walk and chew brightgum at the same time. I'm a marvel, I know. It's all the Jedi training."

Honi's cheeks pinked but she ducked her head in acquiescence and inched closer to Kali, her own Padawan following. It took Kali a moment to call up her shield; in the interim, she allowed the sensation of cold, pattering rain on her head and shoulders and the scent of the sea to wash over her again. She reached within herself and called upon what reserves of energy she'd been able to shore up on the journey here, and extended them outward. The Force answered her call and soon the rainfall lessened, though the storm raged all around them. The wind eased, too, and her cloak settled around her legs.

She opened her eyes and chuckled inwardly as she noted Honi's astonished look, matched by Zara's wide-eyed incredulity. The clones had seen this before, and while they were pleased, their minds were mainly focused on their mission.

"Ready?" Traxis asked her, indicating the nearby building.

Kali nodded. "Let's move out."

* * *

Inside, it was another world.

The halls were white and clean, and empty. The Force-shield somewhat muffled the group's steps, but even the sound of boots on the tiled floor echoed in the corridors. It was cool, but the air smelled a bit stale and briny, as though the filtration units were not functioning properly.

There was another kind of emptiness to this place, one that crawled up Kali's spine and sent uneasy, warning prickles through her awareness. It was an emptiness that suggested a loss of life. The Living Force echoed as if with the last breaths of those who had died, and her stomach curled in apprehension. The thread that bound her to Milo grew fainter with each moment, so she increased her pace, winding her way through the labyrinthine halls with a confidence she did not feel.

The corridor they walked through appeared to be the main thoroughfare, and led the group deep within the facility. Doors were placed along the sides, but Kali hurried past them, spurred by the Force and her own growing concern for Milo. She paused only to pass through the necessary doorways, using the Force to persuade the lock-panels to open, and trusted the guys to record the journey in their HUDs, so they could leave without getting lost.

Through all of this, they met no one else.

When they passed an open door, Kali continued on, but Traxis paused, then called her name. Sensing that he was beyond her shield, Kali glanced back, but he indicated the doorway with a jab of his thumb. "You should take a look at this."

It was a control center of some kind, outfitted with comm-stations and various other instruments. It was littered with dead Kaminoans.

Zara let out a soft gasp, and Crest immediately grabbed her shoulders and turned her away while Kali and Traxis entered the room. Weave followed, pulling out his medscanner, no doubt to ensure the Kaminoans really were dead.

But there was no way they were still alive. Their injuries were proof enough. Kali did not try to suppress a shudder; she'd seen death before, much worse than this, but there was something about these particular deaths that bothered her, though she could not explain why. There was no one in the immediate area, so she dropped her shield while the others investigated.

"A bladed weapon," Traxis said, kneeling beside one of the Kaminoans. "Probably a vibrosword. See the point of entry? It's been cauterized a bit; only happens like that with vibros. Plus it's too large a wound for a standard knife."

"This happened recently," Weave added as he ran his scanner across another Kaminoan. "Judging from cell decay, I'd say it was between six to eight hours ago." He shook his head. "Who could have done this?"

Trax's voice was dark. "Can't say I feel sorry for any long-necks, but this is kind of fekked up."

Honi stood in the doorway. "It doesn't matter; we cannot help them. We must move on."

Throat tight, Kali nodded and stepped around the fallen Kaminoan forms. "We'll inform...someone," she said as she slipped out of the room. "As soon as we have Milo and we're safely away."

"Everyone look sharp," Traxis added as the group met Zara and Crest in the hallway, and Kali brought up her shield once more. "Whoever did that may still be around."

They continued on. Kali's nerves wore down with each step, but she kept her focus on two things: the shield and Milo. Since she'd started working with Shadow Squad, the former had become much easier for her to manage, so she was able to expend most of her energy toward the latter. She resolved not to think about the dead Kaminoans until she could do something about them.

Neither she nor Honi sensed a murderous, vibro-wielding killer, but everyone was still on edge, and the silence of this place was oppressive. The further they went into the facility, the heavier the air seemed to be, until it was almost an effort to breathe.

When she caught the new presences, she paused in her tracks and the others nearly ran into her.

"What the fek...?" Trax began, but Kali held up her hand to silence him.

She'd almost grown accustomed to the absence of life and been so focused on Milo, that sensing the new clones was disorienting at first. But they were there; perhaps a dozen, not much farther ahead. One, in particular, was around the next corridor, monitoring what must have been an alarming series of doors opening and closing on their own, and footsteps with no accompanying bodies.

Kali drew her focus away from Milo for one moment and examined the new fellow. She found a young mind, one whose fear was overshadowed by his distrust of the strangers who breached the storm world's surface. A few threads of his awareness reached to Milo as well, which assured her he was a friend – or would be, soon.

So Kali dropped her shield. The others tensed, but before they could do anything she took a few steps forward and called out. "Hello, there,  _vod'ika_. We're friends of Milo's. Can you take us to him?"

At first there was no response, then a clone boy peeked around the corner, almost-gold eyes flickering over the soldiers and Jedi, and landing on Kali last of all. He studied her a moment, then, to Kali's surprise, nodded once.

"He said you'd come. Zero and Ward thought he was hallucinating. I'm glad he wasn't."

Trax and Crest shifted behind her, but Kali kept her calm. "Please take us to him. He's dying, and he needs our help."

She'd hoped the young clone would have some reassurances to offer, but he only nodded again. "This way," he said, and darted down the corridor.

The others followed.

* * *

Everything hurt. He was a little tired of it, actually, and so all-around exhausted he thought death might be a welcome change, just so he could rest.

But Cobble was a fierce fighter and would not relinquish Milo to death, though pain, it seemed, would win this battle. The painkillers had either stopped working or had never really worked to begin with, and each breath, each touch against his skin, was white-hot and searing. The cold feeling from the bacta had been subsumed by pain and his entire body cried out in protest, though his voice only allowed a few, nonsensical words to spring forth.

 _Kali._ Vod _. Shadow..._

He was dying; he knew it. Surely that was the only reason he'd felt – heard – her voice in his head, urging him to wait, because help was coming? Surely his hope was a hallucination. He said her name again and dimly noted the concerned looks between Ward and Zero.

Also dim was the awareness of Cobble's hands prodding his wound, doing...something. Trying to sterilize it, he thought, or maybe something relating to nerve damage. He'd never been much good at medic stuff, though Weave had tried to teach them all a little bit, just in case. Anyway, whatever Cobble was doing kriffing  _hurt,_ but Milo couldn't form the words. There were too many shadows all around, and it grew more and more difficult to see.

Then he felt another touch on his cheek, softer than any clone's. "Mi?"

Her voice.

 _That's it_ , he thought sadly,  _I'm dead._  How else could he have reached her so quickly?

"Milo?" She placed a hand on his cheek. "Milo, look at me. Honi..."

"I'm here. Move over."

 _No_ , Milo thought, trying to force his eyes open.  _Don't leave..._ There was too much he needed to tell her.

When his eyes opened, he saw a face he did not recognize. A woman with pale skin and hair the color of copper knelt over him; her eyes were closed, and judging from the concentration on her face, she was accessing the Force. Another Jedi?

Some of the pain receded. Milo glanced up and saw a familiar scarred face looking down at him, and a bald clone he knew... And a clone with twin strips of hair shaved into his skull, who was kneeling beside Cobble, eyes on Milo's wound.

 _Vode._ Milo tried to say the word, but his throat was too full of words already and that little one had trouble breaking free.

"Milo," Kali said again, now on his other side. Kriff, his eyes were playing wick-ball with her, and he was a little dizzy. "Milo,  _udesii_. You're going to be okay."

The copper-haired Jedi huffed. "Not if you don't get out of the kriffing way, Kalinda. We need room to work."

Kalinda rolled her eyes, which made Milo wish he could smile. Something warm and soft flooded his body, and he felt a nice tingling sensation, as if someone was draping a clean sheet over him, letting it fall and settle across his skin. He felt safe.

But he still had to tell her, especially if this was all a prelude to dying and even a Jedi and his  _vode_ couldn't save him. Milo gathered up every ounce of strength he possessed, and said her name.

"Kali."

From this close, he saw how her dark eyes were shining and red rimmed. "Milo, hush. Honi says you're going to be fine, and she doesn't lie."

That was good, but he needed to speak. He sucked in his breath and tried to push the words out all at once, because he could feel the shadows creeping up to claim him "He's not dead, Kali. He's alive. He's been...reconditioned..."

Her mouth fell open. "He's...?"

"Alive," Milo managed. "But...lost." His eyes were heavy and he wanted to yawn, but no longer did he feel that going to sleep would mean he'd not wake up again. His brothers were here; everything was going to be okay.

"Kalinda," a woman's voice said in warning, but she did not look away from Milo.

Instead, her hand rested on his cheek once more and she leaned down, pressing her lips to his forehead. " _Udesii_ , Milo. Go to sleep,  _vod_. We'll all be here when you wake up."

Milo sighed, happy to do as she said. He tried to smile at her one more time as he let sleep claim him at last.


	29. Chapter Twenty-Eight

Lyrics:[ "Waterbound," performed by The Fretless, from ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iCHYwvrh0wg&index=29&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp) _[Waterbound](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iCHYwvrh0wg&index=29&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp). _ (FYI, the only online version I could find was a live recording, and the quality is not the best. My apologies. But it's a damn good song.)

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

_So say my name and don't forget,_

_Water still ain't got me yet,_

_Nothing but I'm bound to roam,_

_Waterbound and I can't get home._

Milo was going to pull through.

Tallis had declared it almost at once, much to Crest's – and everyone's – relief, but there were still lots of Jedi-Healery things that needed doing. Nothing needed to be blown up, at least not right now, so Crest decided the best thing he could do was to stay the fek out of the way as Tallis and the two medics worked over his brother. The little Padawan hovered near her Master, too, seemingly intent on helping out but only succeeding in getting in the way.

After Milo's words, Kalinda had frozen for one moment, then kissed his forehead and stepped back to let Tallis and the others do their thing. Crest could see her thinking over the implications, though, and to be honest, he wasn't in much of a different state.

He glanced beside him, where Traxis stood, feet planted on the ground, hands resting lightly on the blasters at his hips. Like Crest, he'd removed his bucket, but his eyes were fixed on the four clones who stood a few paces away, watching the scene. Two of those clones wore armor and carried electrostaffs, though neither weapon was active. Another clone was young, maybe seven or eight standard years old. He'd been the one to lead them here so quickly; now he danced nervously from foot to foot while the Jedi and medics worked.

The fourth clone only had one arm. It was rude to stare, but Crest couldn't help himself. He'd never seen an otherwise healthy one-armed clone before. If a man had suffered such an injury on the battlefield, he might have been given a prosthetic replacement – if he was deemed valuable enough, as with officers or commandos. Most regular grunts would have been sent back to Kamino for processing.

This fellow was, to Crest's way of thinking, soft. He wore fatigues and his body was not as muscular as that of most other clones. Crest admittedly slacked off on the push-ups sometimes, but this guy, while not flabby, was softer and rounder, like someone had blurred his edges. His eyes were sharp, though, and they darted from Jedi to clone, one-by-one.

"Zara." The Jedi's voice broke through the relative quiet, causing everyone to look toward Tallis. She leveled a glare upon her hapless Padawan, hovering beside her. "Your assistance is not required at this time. Give me room to work."

The little blue-skinned girl sat back on her heels, and Crest sighed inwardly as her lower lip trembled. But to her credit she fought back any incipient tears, got to her feet and went to stand by Kalinda, who was frowning at Tallis.

After a moment, though, Kali glanced at the cadet who'd led them here. "We came across some dead Kaminoans. Are there more of them?"

The cadet's mouth opened, but one of the armored clones spoke up. "A few. He...killed them."

"Who's–"

"That one's friend," the armored clone broke in, indicating Mi. "Apparently he was a captain. Creon Dai reconditioned him. He went barvy and killed all the long-necks, then took a ship and bolted off-world."

A chill raced through Crest's body at the words, and he and Traxis exchanged glances. Trax's eyes rounded before his shock faded to a dark scowl. Crest envied his  _vod's_  anger, for he wasn't sure how he felt. Angry, sure, at whoever had done this  _osik_  to Stonewall. But he was also...afraid, a little, though he didn't want to admit it.

Reconditioned, Force-sensitive, and set loose on the galaxy.

Mi had been right. Their brother truly was lost.

Kalinda's eyes had closed briefly at the armored clone's words, though her next words were calm. "What do you mean, 'barvy?' Do you have any more information? Did he say where he was going?"

The fellow exchanged glances with his companion. "No, General. He mentioned completing an objective, but didn't give any details, and I was too busy dealing with Milo to pay much attention. He was 'barvy' as in...well, he seemed like a nice enough guy before Creon got a hold of him, but after..."

"It was more than reconditioned," the other armored clone said, shaking his head. "I've seen reconditioned clones before, right after the procedure. They're always a little fuzzy, a little uncertain. Not this fellow."

"He has the Force," the one-armed clone said suddenly, causing the others to look his way. "I heard him and Milo discussing it in our cell."

"Are there more of you here?" Kalinda asked after another pause.

The one-armed clone smirked. "Yeah. We're a regular misfit squad."

One of the armored clones indicated Kali with a sweep of his hand. "See her kit? She's a  _Jedi_ , Zero. Show some kriffing respect."

Zero rolled his eyes. "Yes,  _sir_ , Ward."

The armored clone – Ward – tensed, but before he could speak, Kalinda cleared her throat, drawing everyone's attention her way. "Your name is Ward?" she asked the first armored clone.

He nodded, then, almost as an afterthought, snapped into a salute. "Yes, General. CT-6839."

"And I'm CT-7447," the other armored clone said, also saluting. "But I go by Halligan, sir."

Kalinda glanced at the one-armed clone. "Your name is Zero?"

He considered her a moment before nodding slowly. "Yes, Master Jedi."

Kalinda smiled at him, then looked at the youngest clone. "And you are...?"

Light-brown eyes darted to the floor, but he answered her quickly enough. "Levy, sir."

"Levy." She gave a slight bow. "Thank you for guiding us so quickly." The cadet flushed and mumbled something Crest didn't catch. Kalinda looked between all the new clones. "Are there other clones here? Guards or...residents?"

Crest knew her well enough to recognize the confusion in her voice, though she kept her features impressively neutral. In truth, he was pretty kriffing curious about Zero's status, and about this place in general.

The three adult clones exchanged looks, but it was Zero who answered. "Yeah. There's about a dozen of us in The Dregs. Ward and Halli are the only guards."

Kalinda's brows knitted. "The...Dregs? Is that what this place is called?"

"Just ignore Zero, sir," Ward said. "He thinks he's funny."

"The  _official_  name for this facility is Sector Nine," Halligan added.

The Dregs.  _That doesn't bode well._ Crest and Traxis exchanged a look, and Crest noted the confusion in his  _vod_ 's face. It mirrored his own. "Why 'The Dregs?'" he asked Zero.

The one-armed clone gave him a once-over; there was no curiosity in his gaze, only observation. "Because we're the bottom of the specimen jar," he said with a shrug. "The clones that live here are what's left over after the long-necks have perfected their final product. Creon liked to use us defects as his personal playground."

Kali frowned at him. "I don't understand."

Halligan shifted in place. "Zero is trying to say is that Scientist Dai conducted his research on the clones here."

"They're...like him," Ward added, indicating Zero with a jerk of his thumb. "Defective, in one way or another. Though the kid seems to have come out of it."

At Halligan's words, the dark-haired woman went still. To Crest's way of thinking, Jedi were always  _still,_ at least a little bit, at least more than a clone ever was. But something about what Halligan said made this one stop moving entirely; even her breathing seemed to halt as she regarded Zero with unblinking eyes.

"What sort of research did Creon do?" she asked at last in a soft, dangerous voice.

As she spoke, her eyes flickered to Zero's missing arm. Zero, perhaps sensing her line of thinking, lifted his hand in a gesture meant to pacify. "Ah, no. This is all mine." He wriggled his stump and Crest winced. "But the other stuff – the nanodroids – that's what Creon was into. That's what he used on us."

"Nanodroids." It was not a question, though Crest would've bet his favorite datapad that she was as clueless as he was at the word.

Zero nodded and shoved his hand in the pocket of his fatigues. "No clue what he's doing with them, only that they...well," he laughed softly and raised his eyes to the ceiling, "make you wish you'd never been decanted, or were at least lucky enough to be processed with the rest of your bad batch and not left to live for years with nothing in sight but the lab."

Kalinda's eyes closed briefly, then she stepped forward and placed a hand on Zero's shoulder, startling him. "Creon is dead," she told him. "All of the Kaminoans are. You don't have to stay here if you don't want to."

Mouth hanging open, Zero looked at Ward and Halligan as if for confirmation. But all they managed was to remove their buckets and stare at the Jedi. "She's right about them all being dead," Halligan said at last.

"I knew  _that_ ," Zero managed, shaking his head. "It's just...leaving this place...I never thought..."

"Well, now's the time to start," Crest broke in with a grin, one he hoped hid his agitation at the whole,  _shabla_ situation. "But you'd better make it quick; we're not going to be sticking around much longer."

He hoped, anyway. Tallis was still kneeling over Milo, while both medics sat on their heels and watched the Jedi at work, though Weave had his scanner out and seemed to be engrossed in whatever it was telling him. Weave's expression wavered between curious and anxious, but that was normal for him. There was none of the blankness that Crest had come to associate with a true emergency, which was heartening. On top of that, Milo's chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, and his features were relaxed.

Kalinda took a deep breath, then looked at the cadet. "Levy, you know your way around?" The kid nodded eagerly, and she smiled. "Good. Please show Zara the lab. Zara," the Padawan straightened, "go with Levy and collect any information you think is relevant to these 'nanodroids.'"

The kiddos exchanged looks, then, to Crest's amusement, Levy snapped off a salute before trotting off to the doorway across the wide room. Zara's head tilted and her large eyes blinked a few times, then she darted after him, Jedi-quick.

Crest glanced back at Kali to see her regarding Zero once more, though her expression held nothing but kindness. "We have a ship, and a safe place to go," she told him. "You and your brothers are welcome to come with us. And you, too," she added, nodding to Ward and Halligan. "Or we can alert the authorities and have someone pick you up, if there's another place onplanet you'd rather be."

To Crest's shock, Zero made a noise of indignation, and rolled his kriffing eyes. "You too?" he asked the Jedi. " _Brothers_ ," he muttered, though he was nodding. "Yeah, I can talk to the others. I doubt they'll want to stick around."

His voice was bland, but Crest noted the gleam in his eyes, and felt some of his own annoyance slip away.  _Poor sod. Stuck here with that long-neck doing Force-knows what to him, and one arm to boot._

Kali smiled at him, then regarded the two armored fellows. They shifted in place, exchanged glances, then Halligan gave her a salute. "We'll leave with you, General. If it's alright."

"Of course," she replied with a nod. "Crest, Trax; please go with them and figure out how many men will be departing with us. Oh," she added, snapping her fingers. "Someone should probably inform our pilot of the new passengers. Hopefully he's used to it by now."

Crest bit back a snicker as she deliberately did not look at Traxis as she said this, and another as his scarred brother nodded. "I'll do it," Trax said.

"Thanks, Trax."

Her voice was innocent, as was her expression, but when Trax turned to follow Zero, Ward and Halligan, she shot Crest a wink. Nice to know she could still joke around, especially given what they'd learned.

But as Crest hurried after the others toward the room's exit, something made him glance back. Kali stood alone between pools of meager light, head down and shoulders slumped, and he could not see her face for the shadows.

* * *

Traxis followed The Dregs clones through the stark white corridors, and tried not to think about how much he fragging hated being back on Kamino. Sector Nine wasn't the same as Tipoca City; it was worse, in some ways. It was too quiet here. Too white – the places where long-neck blood had splattered made the rest of the place even brighter, enough to hurt Trax's eyes. Matter-of-fact, he had to shove his bucket back on and retreat to the safety of his polarized T-visor and the air filtered by the scrubbers on either side of his helmet. That was a relief, too. Though accustomed to it, he'd never cared for the scent of blood.

Apparently, Crest was of the same mind. The bald clone had also replaced his helmet, and Traxis expected his brother to open a private comm channel so they could chat, but he didn't. That, more than anything else, was confirmation of Crest's unease.

They passed a Kaminoan body, crumpled at an unnatural angle, and Trax's stomach actually turned. Fek; he'd not experienced that feeling since his days as a cadet. Why now?

But even as he asked the question, he had the answer.

Because Stonewall had killed that long-neck. He'd killed all the long-necks here, and fled. Because he'd been reconditioned. Because he was–

Trax cut off the thought before it could grow any further. It was a self-defense mechanism he'd used enough times, so it was as well-honed as any blade. Maybe later he would allow himself to feel something for his  _vod,_ but not here, and not now.

It wasn't a long journey, at least. Within a few minutes of leaving the training room, they entered a wide chamber filled with cells. This place was dimly lit, washed in blue lights that resided in each cell, and it wasn't quiet. There were nearly a dozen clones here, milling around in the center of the chamber with their cells open around them. The moment the door hissed open and they caught sight of the guards, they quieted and stood still.

But Zero gave a wave. "Look who came to rescue us," he said, indicating Crest and Traxis. "And they brought two and a half Jedi, too."

The other clones glanced at one another, clearly confused. Traxis and Crest stood a few paces from them, studying the group. To Trax's eyes, they were...well, there was no use dancing around the truth. They  _were_  defective. A few guys limped; another had a hunchback. A couple more looked old before their time, and one fellow had eyes the color of mist.

It was this one who addressed Zero while the other clones began to circle Crest and Traxis, gazes traveling over them methodically. "Who'd you bring, Zero?"

"Two healthy specimens," the one-armed clone replied. "And their Jedi. They came looking for Milo and his buddy. Can you believe it?"

All eyes remained fixed on Traxis and Crest, and Trax heard a soft  _ding_ in his helmet that indicated Crest had finally opened a comm-channel between them. "Fek. Now I know how those narglatches we saw at the Alderaani zoo felt."

"Tell me about it," Traxis replied.

It was unsettling to be the subject of such scrutiny, but he refused to let his feelings be known. Instead, he pulled off his bucket and returned the looks with one of his own. "Nothing to see here," he said as a few of them stepped back, eyes wide. "Nothing you lot haven't seen before."

"You have a scar," the hunchbacked clone said, pointing at him.

"I've got a lot of scars."

Crest removed his own helmet and offered a warm smile and a wave. " _Koh-toh-yah, vode._  I'm Crest. How's it hanging?"

His only reply was a series of blank looks, before the blind clone tilted his head. "What did you say?"

"Let me try it again," Crest replied easily. "Hello, troopers. My designation is CT-5446, or 'Crest.' What's your status?"

A few of the clones exchanged glances, but no one seemed to know quite how to respond.

Until Zero cleared his throat. "Guys, they've come with Jedi, and a ship. Ward and Halli can confirm...they're the real deal."

The mention of their names seemed to snap the guards out of their trance, though there was a moment of uncertainty as the defective clones studied their guards. Both men exchanged uneasy looks, but at last Halligan nodded.

"They've come to free us," Halligan said quietly. "All of us."

" _If_  we want to leave," Zero added, arching a brow.

Crest nodded. "All the long-necks are dead and there doesn't seem to be any reason for you to stay here, barring some burning desire. Though, we have a medic who can take a look at that sort of thing."

"Cut it out," Traxis muttered to his  _vod_ while the other clones frowned in confusion. "Do you always have to be a stanging comedian?"

Crest shot him a wink. "I can't suppress my ebullient nature."

"Try," Traxis replied, rolling his eyes.

Ignoring him, Crest addressed the other clones once more. "Chances are we're going to have to bang out of here in a hurry, so I suggest moving your  _shebse_ to the ship as fast as possible. If there's anything you want to take with you, now's the time to grab it."

As The Dregs clones began to scatter, he looked at the guards. "The same goes for you two."

Ward and Halligan exchanged looks, but nodded and slipped out of the room. Traxis glanced around, wondering what in the vaping void these clones had to take with them, but he mostly spotted shaving kits and spare fatigues being rolled up for easy carrying.

Something poked his side. "You should warn our, ah, pilot," Crest said, attempting to mimic Ares' Ryl accent. "Hopefully you can sweet-talk him into not being too pissed off that we're bringing a few more passengers than we planned...again."

"And leave you alone with these  _di'kutle_?" Traxis asked in Mando'a. "Not on your  _shabla_  life."

Crest gave him a knowing look. "Orders are orders, Trax. The general said–"

"We don't have a 'general' any more," Traxis broke in. "And I know what she said. But I don't..." He trailed off with a sigh, and ran a hand through his hair. "I don't trust these clones," he said, still in Mando'a. "Not enough to leave you alone with them."

"I'm touched," Crest replied lightly. "But I don't think they're going to cause trouble. Look at them."

Traxis hated to admit such a thing, but Crest was right. These clones – even the guards – were not nearly in the same physical condition as he and Crest, and that wasn't taking into account the guys with missing body parts.

The thing was, he wasn't quite ready to face Ares again, not after their last conversation in the  _Stark Raven's_ engine-room. Trax knew he'd let his guard down too far, revealed too much of his inner self to a stranger. And the kiss...

It'd been a polite rejection – he'd gotten much worse – but it was still a rejection. Traxis' bruised ego was still a little tender. Not to mention the fact that he didn't effing like how difficult it was to keep himself under control when he was alone with the Twi'lek. No, none of this boded well for him; he was experienced enough now to recognize the warning signs and know when to back the fek off.

But none of that was Crest's fault – or business – and he had no intention of talking about it. So he only shoved his bucket back on and nodded. "Fine," he said, turning for the door. "Comm if you need anything. And stop with the stupid, effing jokes – none of them understand half of what you're saying."

There was a grin in Crest's reply. "Copy that,  _vod_. I'll stick to the non-stupid jokes from now on."

* * *

Traxis met Ares a few minutes later, after following the virtual trail left in his HUD from their arrival. Though technology wasn't Trax's forte, it was pretty sweet how his bucket could automatically map out a place using an array of sensors and GPS. Not getting lost was always a good thing.

Outside, it was still storming pretty bad, but he ignored the wind and rain as he approached the bronze-painted freighter. There was a muted patter against his armored arms, head and shoulders, but it was hardly enough to hold his attention as he walked up the boarding ramp, shouldered his rifle, and activated the lock-panel.

Nothing happened.

Frowning, Traxis hit the panel again, using the code Ares had given them. Again...nothing.

But this close to the ship, he the thrum of engines was clear.

Fury swelled through his guts, and he lost his mind. Snarling with rage, Traxis slammed the butt of his rifle into the panel, over and over and over, hoping to damage the fekking thing as much as possible, because he'd be fekked if he let this  _shabla_ , lying  _chakaar_  effing strand them on this Force-forsaken world without so much as a parting dent–

The door slid open and Traxis' body jolted as he looked up, into the muzzle of a pistol aimed at his visor. The pistol dropped almost instantly, though the Twi'lek behind the weapon glared at him, and when Ares spoke, he shouted over the drumming rain.

"What's going on?"

Rather than answer, Traxis ducked his head and popped up as quickly as he could, leveling a nasty smack against the fragging tailhead's chin. "If you fekking think," he added a jab to Ares' ribs, catching him with his armored elbow, "I'm letting you abandon us here without a fight..."

He finished with a blow to Ares' jaw. "You're karking stupider than I thought."

Traxis stood back, and to his immense satisfaction, the Twi'lek groaned and stumbled forward, landing on his side, on the boarding ramp and at Trax's boots. He was not down for long. Out of the shelter of the ship, Ares was soaked immediately. His hands slipped as he pushed himself upright. His pistol had fallen out of his grip, landing on the ramp with a clatter just out of his reach.

Because Traxis was still buzzing with rage at the thought that Ares would betray his family – and him – he considered stepping on his fingers to keep the  _shabuir_  down, but something made him hesitate. Maybe it was the slump of the Twi'lek's shoulders, the rise and fall of his chest, or the way the rain slid across coral skin. Maybe it was because, at his core, Trax was a kriffing soft touch.

Neither moved for a moment, until Ares recovered enough to squint up at Traxis through the falling rain. His mouth opened, but thunder rolled through the sky and Trax didn't hear what words he offered.

"What the fek do you have to say for yourself?" Traxis said, aiming his rifle at the Twi'lek.

"Your brother..." Ares sucked in his breath but managed to sit upright. "Is he alright?"

It was the very last thing Traxis had expected to hear, and he was dumbstruck. "Stonewall?"

A trickle of blood ran down Ares' jaw, though it was almost immediately washed away by the rain. The faded thunder meant Trax could hear how calm he sounded. "No, the other fellow."

His voice was tight with pain, but his eyes were open and fixed on Traxis. There was no anger within them, nor fear, though there should have been. Traxis searched, but didn't know what he was supposed to look for within the gold-flecked depths.

So he lowered his rifle. A little. "According to Tallis, he'll be fine." He paused as more thunder rolled through the sky and Ares sat up a bit straighter but did not reach for his pistol. "I don't know if I believe her," Trax added.

_Stonewall. Reconditioned. Lost._

Traxis ignored the sudden trembling of his hands.

Ares nodded, then, to Traxis' surprise, extended his gloved hand. When Trax hesitated, Ares made a show of rubbing his ribcage. " _You_  put me down here, Traxis. The least you can do is help me get to my feet."

"Fine." Trax grabbed Ares' arm and pulled him upright, so they stood face-to-face beneath the sheets of rain. He also ignored the way he didn't want to let go of Ares' hand.

The Twi'lek skimmed his now-free hand along his jaw and regarded Traxis with an unreadable expression. "Did you come here purely to, ah, assault me, or was there another reason?"

Heat flooded Trax's face, and he was thankful for his bucket. "I thought you were–"

"I know what you thought," Ares broke in sharply. "But you were wrong. I told Kalinda I'd keep the engines warm, did I not?"

"Yeah..."

"And I hope you will forgive me if I didn't immediately distinguish the lock-panel's chime from the sound of rain."

 _Fek_. Trax winced but said nothing. He knew what he  _should_ say; he wasn't completely without tact or self-awareness, but words weren't easy to come by, sometimes. Even the right ones. Especially the right ones.

Ares studied him a moment before he shook his head, his  _lekku_ swaying. His expression held nothing so much as expectation. "Well?"

"There are more clones here than we thought," Traxis said quickly, anxious to get this  _shabla_  encounter over with. "About a dozen men. The fekking long-necks who were," he could not withhold his scowl, " _keeping_  them are dead, and they need a ride."

By now the rain had slacked off a bit, though Ares was still thoroughly soaked. When he bent to collect his weapon, Trax saw again that his coat was dark and his skin was dotted with rainwater. He shivered once, but nodded slowly as if assessing the clone's words, and Traxis found he was anxious to hear Ares' reply.

Finally Ares turned back to the ship, casting a glance at the clone over his shoulder. "Then you are lucky the  _Raven_ is so roomy."

"So, it's alright if they come along?" Trax called out.

"Yes," Ares replied, though he didn't pause or turn around again. Once he crossed the threshold, the door slid shut.

Traxis stood in the rain for a few moments before he made his way back into the shelter of the facility, and he tried to ignore the apology stuck in his throat.  _Di'kut_ , he thought, scowling beneath his bucket.

But the word wasn't meant for Ares.

* * *

_Meanwhile..._

Zara had never met a young clone before. Before she'd become Master Tallis' Padawan, she'd only ever encountered the adult clones through stories on the HoloNet or the occasional sighting at the Temple. But those clones were distant figures, almost decorative, like the statues that permeated the Temple's halls. She knew there was more to them than that – of course there was – but she didn't know quite  _what._

Levy trotted through the corridors silently, glancing back after every few turns as if to make sure she'd not gotten lost. Determination ebbed from him, as well as, to her surprise, a healthy amount of awe and curiosity. But she was just a Padawan; no one to be in awe of. And weren't the clones supposed to have been taught all about the Jedi?

Zara tried to turn her mind to her current mission, and ignore all other distractions, as her Master would have ordered. It should have been nice to be on the ocean world – being near water was always a comfort, due to her Nautolan heritage – but Kamino felt strange. The stark whiteness of the corridors was unsettling, and fear permeated this facility more than the tang of salt water. The Force echoed the story that these residual pheromones told: many beings had died here. How many of them had been clones?

So wrapped up was Zara in her observations that she nearly collided with Levy's back when he paused before a half-open door. Thankfully, the Force trilled a warning and allowed her to skid to a stop, though her boots squeaked on the polished floor. Levy shot her a curious look and she offered him a shy smile.

"Sorry."

He shook his head once. "It's no trouble, Commander."

It was the first time she'd ever been referred to as such, and the title caught her completely off-guard, so she stood frozen as he frowned at the door before them. "Looks like someone forced entry," he said. "See the lock-panel?"

Blinking, Zara pulled herself out of her shock and examined the lock-panel, which sported an ugly gash down the center. She was not psychometric, but it was easy to detect faint ripples of anger that lingered in the air. That, coupled with the door that hung half-open and slightly crooked, led her to one conclusion.

"The captain broke in here," she said, running her index finger along the door's edge. "I'd wager there was some other security measure that prevented him from just opening the door, so he forced his way in."

Levy narrowed his eyes at the gap between door and wall, where they could make out rows of gleaming equipment. "Can you tell if there's anyone in there now, Commander?"

 _Ugh_ ,  _Commander._ Suddenly Zara understood why Kalinda was so insistent about not being referred to as "General." But there was little point in debating the subject now, so she extended her awareness inside the room. Only an echo of life remained.

"Whoever's in there is dead," she replied, though her hand sought her lightsaber anyway. At Levy's questioning look she shrugged. "It doesn't hurt to be prepared."

He looked back at the door, and his body tensed before he began to shoulder his way through. "No, sir, it doesn't."

Inside, it was...bad. When Crest had shielded her from the first group of Kaminoans they'd found, Zara had almost protested. She'd seen her share of death, even before she'd focused her studies on healing. It was part of a Jedi's training to experience loss of life, so that she could accept it and move on.

But what she and Levy discovered in the lab was a different animal. These beings had died violently. There were even speckles of blood on the ceiling.

Aside from the evidence of death, the lab was bright, clean and orderly, very much like any other Zara had come across. There were a few machines that she recognized from the Halls of Healing, along with computer consoles, exam tables, lights, magnifiers...all the standard accouterments, which meant she could find her way around this place with relative ease.

By contrst, Levy's chest was still, as if he was holding his breath, and outright fear rippled through his Force-presence.

"You don't have to stay if you don't want to," she said, keeping her voice gentle. "I can find what I need on my own."

Her words seemed to snap him out of his trance, for he took a deep breath and met her eyes. "With respect, Commander, I should stay with you." The edges of his fear dulled, and he offered her a faint, half-smile. "Orders and all."

"I know it's unpleasant, but I was trained for this."

Levy's eyes closed briefly as he nodded. "So was I."

Zara studied him a moment. Of course he looked like a younger version of Weave and the other clones; same light-brown eyes, same dark hair, same chin, ears and nose. He was a little taller than her, but she had no clue how old he really was, given that these clones aged twice as fast as other Humans. Compared to a the Human boys she'd trained with at the Temple, Levy looked about her age, but that would make him...

"How old are you, Levy?"

"Seven standard years, sir," was his immediate reply.

Seven years old. Half her own age, and judging by his lack of reaction to anything in here, he'd spoken the truth about his training. What sort of training did the Kaminoans put seven year-old kids through, that they could face this kind of brutality with such resolve? Zara thought back to herself at seven years; she'd never have been as calm as he was now.

For the first time since entering this room, Zara's stomach turned and she looked away from him, suddenly anxious to get to work. "We should probably start with the computers, and any specimens Creon might have collected."

After clipping her saber to her belt, she stepped around the body of a Kaminoan and moved to the nearest console. Thankfully, she always carried a few blank datasticks in her utility belt – one of Master Tallis' many preferences – so she would have a way to transfer any data she found. She'd no sooner reached the console than Levy was at her side again, though this time he was eyeing the machine eagerly.

"I can poke around here if you like," he said without looking at her as he reached for the holographic display unit. "I think Creon kept actual nanodroids in one of those containment units over there."

All formality had left his voice and his words were rushed as he gestured across the room. In contrast to his earlier fear, excitement now lapped at the air around him, and Zara studied him again. "You know your way around computers?"

When he cast her a brief look, he was grinning. "Yeah, you could say that. Sir," he added quickly. He ducked his head and turned his eyes back to the console; within moments he'd activated the holographic display and was navigating it with ease. "I was only in here a few times," he said as he worked. "But I watched the long-necks use this model, and I kind of always wanted to give it a shot."

"Did they...do stuff to you?" Zara heard herself ask.

He paused and glanced her way, light-brown eyes narrowed. "Only a little D and P duty. Creon wasn't sure how my body would react to the nanos, since I'm not fully matured."

Zara frowned. "What's 'D and P duty?'"

Levy's ears reddened and he coughed into his hand before fixing his eyes on the readout before him. "Uh...nothing much, really. Collecting samples and stuff." He coughed again. "Commander, do you have a way to transfer anything I find here?"

She handed him all of her blank datasticks, then made her way to the metallic, cube-shaped containment units he'd indicated earlier. They were medical-grade and expensive, and in a variety of sizes; she'd only ever seen similar ones used in the labs at the Temple, holding various cultures and samples for study. Sure enough, within the third cube – which she had to open with a brush of the Force – were a dozen rows of cylinders, all stacked neatly side-by-side. Zara selected one and examined it beneath a nearby lighted magnifying glass. If she looked very closely, she could make out something moving within.

"Levy?"

"Commander?"

She held up the cylinder. "Is this...?"

"Yeah," he said with a shudder. "That's them."

"What do they do?" She glanced back at the cylinder. "What did Creon use them for?"

Levy's eyes narrowed. "To hurt us, as best I could tell." Zara blanched and he sighed, turning back to his console. "It's hard for me to say, sir. I wasn't told much – from anyone. But from what I could make out, Creon wanted to use the nanodroids to...correct any mistakes in the long-necks' finished product."

Zara tilted the cylinder so that the light fell upon it better. Still, she could only make out the faintest movements from within. "I thought the Kaminoans didn't make mistakes."

"Zero and the others would probably beg to differ, sir."

"But they're like...anomalies, right?"

He shrugged again. "That's true, sir. But even the Kaminoans can't get everything right. A lot of clones experience variants in their genetic structure, despite all the long-necks' efforts. Mostly it's harmless, like blond hair instead of black, but not always."

"So...Creon wanted to," she frowned, " _help_ the clones?"

"I don't know what he wanted," Levy said sharply. "Other than to cause us pain. I don't know why he did what he did, or what he hoped to accomplish. All I know is it was a lot of suffering for nothing."

With that, he turned fully back to his console and continued his work, leaving Zara to her own devices. She had no way to transport the cylinders other than stuffing them in her pockets, so she decided to just take the entire containment unit rather than risk damaging the nanodroids. The unit was the size of a small conservator, and weighed about the same, but years of training had served her well and she was able to lift it without too much difficulty. Navigating the room was another matter, but before she tripped on something she didn't want to think about, Levy was at her side, helping to support the weight of the unit, and they slowly, awkwardly, made their way to the door.

It took a bit of creative maneuvering – and a little persuasion with the Force – before they got the containment unit out of the lab and began the journey back to Kalinda. Neither spoke for a few minutes, and Zara found herself in the uncomfortable position of trying to come up with conversation topics, especially given his sharp words of a few minutes ago. She didn't  _think_ he was mad at her – the Force didn't give that impression – but she thought he was unhappy, anyway. She couldn't blame him. However, she was also curious about him; his past, and what about it had brought him  _here,_ with the supposed "defective clones," but it would probably be rude to ask such a thing.

Levy's voice snapped her out of her thoughts. "Commander...will he really be alright?"

"You mean Milo?"

"Yeah," Levy said. "He was...really nice to me, and there was a lot of blood..."

Zara nodded, then winced when she realized he probably couldn't see her over the containment unit's side. "I got a little glance with the Force, and Milo's injury looks worse than it really is. Whoever stabbed him missed all his important bits."

"Your Master – General Tallis – said as much," Levy replied slowly. "But I wasn't sure if it was true, or the sort of thing a medic says to make his  _vode_  feel better."

"If my Master says he'll be fine, then he'll be fine." Zara tried to inject more confidence in her voice than Master Tallis instilled in her own thoughts. "She's one of the best Healers in the Jedi Order."

Over the top of the containment unit, Levy shot her a smile, and waves of sweet-scented relief ebbed from him. "That's good to hear, Commander. Thank you."

"Sure." It was a half-hearted reply. Thinking of her Master made Zara's  _lekku_ flush with agitation. She'd  _tried_ to help, she really had, but Master Tallis had brushed her aside like...like she was a stupid youngling getting underfoot. It was downright humiliating that she had to rely on a Jedi who wasn't even her teacher to give her some sort of consideration.

 _But it's all part of the learning process_ , she told herself, taking a deep breath to bolster her calm. Working with Honi Tallis – and learning  _from_ her – was not easy, but then, a Jedi's life wasn't  _supposed_ to be easy, was it? Zara's teachers had always told her that the job of a Padawan was to learn as much as she could and do her best – always. A Jedi had to trust that the Force would guide her steps.

Zara knew all that. It just would have been nice if her Master actually  _liked_ having a Padawan.

"Commander?"

"Yeah?"

Levy peered at her over the top of the unit once more. "I couldn't find much information in the lab, but I was thinking... Creon always had a datapad with him. I think he kept most of his files on it. His body is in the training-room; I didn't see the 'pad before, but maybe if we both search..."

He trailed off, and Zara adjusted her grip on the unit as she turned over his words. "Sounds like a plan," she said at last, offering him a smile over the top of the unit.

He smiled back. "Yes, sir."

* * *

Kalinda watched Weave and Cobble – who'd also turned out to be a medic – carefully load an unconscious Milo onto a repulsorlift stretcher that someone had found. Honi stood at Milo's head, one hand over his wound, the other resting on his opposite shoulder while she offered her own kind of support through the Force. This state,  _morichro,_ meant that Honi's mind was completely focused on Mi. Kali had seen Honi perform  _morichro_ many times; so deep within the trance, her former Padawan's eyes were closed and she probably had only a vague awareness of what was happening around her. Save Weave's few words of direction or encouragement, no one spoke.

 _He's going to be fine_ , Kali thought as Milo was settled onto the stretcher. She'd mentally repeated the litany to the point where she wasn't sure she believed it any longer. He would live, yes, but what sort of nerve damage had been done by the vibrosword? Beyond that, what had Creon Dai done  _to_ him, in this horrible place?

How long would it take him to heal? Would he ever be the same man he'd been?

No one was looking her way, so she allowed her eyes to close as a fresh wave of sorrow shuddered through her. By all accounts, she should be happy; Stonewall was alive. But she had no idea where he was, or how to find him. Their bond was severed, his memories erased. It was another kind of death, and it was not one she knew how to handle.

But she refused to allow herself more than a momentary luxury of despair. Surely there must be a way. Stone was alive, therefore there was hope, miniscule though it may have been. Kali glanced around the cavernous room, considering. There were Force-echoes here, remnants of pain, fear, and anger. Beyond that, she could discern nothing. Perhaps later she could return here with Quinlan or another psychometric Jedi, and see if they could get a sense of where Stonewall had gone. She could question Ward and Halligan further, as they seemed to have some knowledge of how the reconditioning process worked, and perhaps try to suss out what her husband might have been thinking.

The memory of the dead Kaminoans tugged at her thoughts, and bile rose in her throat. Stonewall was a soldier; he'd killed many times. All clones had a streak of violence ingrained within them, whether or not they chose to act upon it. But what she'd seen here was murder.

Yes, her husband had killed in battle, but he was not a murderer.

But the man who'd ravaged this place was.

 _Alive_ , Milo had said.  _But lost._

Kali swiped at her eyes. Was he also afraid? Angry? Even if she did find him again, how much of the man she loved would remain?

But none of that mattered right now. He was alive and she had a promise to keep. She would find him. Somehow. The rest, she could sort out later. Her hands dropped and tightened into fists beneath her robe.

"Kalinda?" Zara's voice made her turn, and she watched the Padawan enter the room alone. "Levy and I found the nanogene droids," Zara said as she approached. "The others are helping him bring them to the ship. But he said that most of Creon's research was on a datapad, which should be with him. Here, somewhere."

Both Jedi looked toward the pile of rubble at one end of the room, the remains of some sort of observation deck. Kali had only made a cursory inspection of it, as most of her focus had been on Milo, but now she noted the pale, elongated arm visible from behind the rubble. She took a deep breath and glanced at Zara. "Stay here; I don't want you to see this."

To her surprise, the blue-skinned girl shook her head slowly. "With respect, Kalinda, I've seen worse. I am a Healer, after all."

Her voice was thin, but the words rang true, and Kali felt rather old all of a sudden; she would have said much the same thing at Zara's age, after all. It was the place of adults to keep children from seeing the worst that the galaxy offered, though Jedi training rarely afforded such distinctions. She thought about the lab where she'd just sent Zara and Levy, and winced inwardly as she realized how brutal that must have been.

But there was nothing to be done for it now. Maybe her maternal instincts were on overdrive.

So she nodded once and they crossed the room together. There was a thread of blood trickling from the Kaminoan's nostrils, and his neck was bent at an unnatural angle, evidence of how he'd met his death.

 _No_ , Kali thought as she and Zara began to search the area around him.  _How Stone killed him_. It was a truth she could not shield herself from with polite euphemisms.

Both Jedi rooted around in the rubble for a few minutes before Zara let out a noise of satisfaction and withdrew a datapad. When she tried to activate the thing, it was not responsive, and the Padawan sighed and looked at Kali.

"Take it anyway," Kali said with a nod. "Even if it's farkled, Weave can hopefully recover some of the data."

"Levy might be able to as well," Zara replied as she tucked the 'pad into her robe. "He's good with computers."

Kali placed a hand on Zara's shoulder to guide her away from Creon Dai's body. "Is he?"

Zara nodded. "He was stellar with the one in the lab."

"One thing you learn from working with them; the clones will never fail to surprise you," Kali replied with a faint smile.

By the time they reached the doorway, Traxis was there, rifle slung over his shoulder and helmet swaying at his belt. "Crest is getting our passengers squared away on the ship," the scarred clone said without preamble. "Weave, Tallis and that odd fellow stuck Mi in one of the cabins. I don't know about you, but I'm ready to get off this effing rock."

Zara covered her mouth with her hand, amusement flickering from her at the use of the swear word, and Kali shot Trax a warning look. His only response was a shrug, and she sighed.  _That's what I get for pushing them to be so informal with me._

"How are the new recruits?" she asked him. It was an effort to keep her inflection light.

Traxis' scar rippled as he frowned in thought. "Weird. They just sort of milled around like a bunch of useless karks, until Ares put them in one of the rooms on the upper-deck. Even the guards acted like they had never been on a kriffing ship before."

"What did Creon do to them?" Zara asked, looking between Kali and the clone.

This made Kali's stomach twist again, but it was in anger.  _What, indeed?_  The clones here were unlike any she'd ever seen; they were not timid, exactly, but Trax's observation was right. They did not seem to know quite what to do with themselves. Zero's words had given the impression that they all thought of themselves as living refuse. What sort of lives had they led, living in this isolated place as subjects of the Kaminoan's "research?"

And why had no one in the Republic – the Senate and the Jedi Order – done anything about it? Did anyone even know? Were there other places like this on Kamino, places where living beings were treated like test-subjects? After listening to Stone and the guys talk about their youths in Tipoca City, she understood the clones' initial training was brutal, but in her mind, Sector Nine took the word to a new level.

Kali shook her head. "I don't know, Zar. We'll question them a bit more when we get to Aruna. Maybe Weave and Honi can examine Creon's research and the nanodroids, and we can figure it out."

"Well, we have a fek-load of ordo," Trax said. "We can blow this place to sh–" He bit off the word, glanced at Zara, and continued. "To  _haran._ We can't make it disappear, but we can do some real damage."

Kali was past ready to leave, but something made her look around the room again, like she could find the answers to all of her questions if she only tried a moment more. "No."

"You want someone else to pick up where that  _chakaar_  Creon left off?"

Kali shook her head. This was the last place she knew Stonewall had been; it might be a link to where he had gone. But she felt silly admitting such a foolish hope, even to her  _vod_ , so she turned to leave. "I can't imagine any of what Creon was doing was legal. Someone from the Republic might need to investigate further. Besides," she added, "I don't want to waste any more of our resources on this place."

Trax and Zara's boots echoed on either side as they followed, and the clone's voice was dark. "Whatever you say."

* * *

Next time: another flashback, plus checking in with Stonewall.


	30. Chapter Twenty-Nine

Lyrics: ["I Pray For Rain," by Brian Lopez, from  _Ultra._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jREL67SdpLw&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp&index=30)

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

_I am fickle, damaged man, at best._

_Yet still you claim that I'm meant to stand up here above the rest,_

_But I'm not so comfortable up here above the rest._

_Approximately two months ago..._

_(about one month_ before _the events on Coraux)_

Stonewall frowned at the spreading arms of the cacti before him, but spoke to empty air. "We both know I can't do what you can, Kali. I'm no Jedi."

The sun blazed overhead, and he was starting to feel it. The readout from his HUD indicated his climate-controlled armor was failing to keep his body at an optimum temp, while his polarized visor struggled to compensate for Orea's excessive sunlight. At least his kit offered some protection. Stonewall and his men had exchanged their usual, spiffy white armor for desert camouflage; the plastoid pieces were colored in shades of mottled brown, beige and gray, and allowed the clones to blend in seamlessly with the arid terrain.

However, Stonewall's tech was failing him miserably, because this kriffing planet was hotter than  _haran._

But even the heat did not account for the rippling sheen of air between him and the clump of large, pale-gray cacti; the place from where Kali's voice emanated.

"You're half right. You're not a Jedi." Her tone turned challenging. "But you  _can_ do this."

He sighed. "We've been working at the shield for days, and I'm still not managing it. When will you admit defeat?"

"Never." The air shimmered before his Jedi appeared as if someone had drawn a curtain away from her. As usual, she wore no armor, but had thrown on her hood and a pair of polarized goggles for the desert trek. Because of her knee, they had made slower progress than the other teams, but he never minded.

She adjusted her survival pack and said, nonchalantly, "Besides, you're not really trying."

Stonewall narrowed his eyes; she couldn't see his expression through his bucket, but he did not bother to hide his emotions in the Force. "That's not true."

"You gave up yesterday; the last few times you only tried the Force-shield to placate me."

"Kali–"

But she held up her hand, and he felt her annoyance seep through their Force-bond. "I  _know_  you can manage it." Her expression turned distant, searching; after a beat she nodded once. "Which is why we're not moving on until you manage the shield."

It was barely noon. Already they'd had a long day slogging across this desert, searching for any signs of Seppie booby-traps, recon droids, or anything else that might hinder Blazer Corps when they arrived to free Orea's capital city from the grip of the Confederacy. Over the past tenday, Shadow Squad had divided into groups of two, each taking an area around the outskirts of the capital, with orders to disable and destroy any traps or drones. Between them, the six team members had already taken out over three-dozen recon droids and dismantled almost twenty nasty, explosive traps.

Stonewall and Kali had gone off alone, as much to practice his Force-training as to complete their own share of the mission, and he  _thought_ he'd made a fairly decent showing for himself. He'd almost managed the shield a few times.

But by now he was running on an empty stomach and caf from well over six hours ago, not to mention how he was about a week behind on his sleep. His head ached from the glare his HUD could not keep at bay, and using the Force sapped his strength quicker than a slog through the heat.

"I. Can't," he ground out, turning away. " _Fek_ , Kali. I'm not kriffing strong enough, alright?"

Without waiting for a reply, he marched along the route they'd planned, though he listened for her following tread. He would never truly leave her behind, but kriffing hell...he was not in the mood for this Force- _shizk_  today. Why couldn't she just let it go?

Silence greeted him.  _Shab_ , she could be stubborn, sometimes. He sighed and glanced back, expecting her to still be standing by the cacti, watching him behind her goggles.

But she was gone again.

In her place was a Seppie recon droid, hovering slowly across the rust-red rock and grit of Orea, bulbous head swiveling, spindly legs brushing trails in the dirt.

Stonewall froze. The cactus clump shielded him for the moment, but if the droid continued on its trajectory, it would catch him in its photoreceptors. If he was spotted, the whole mission would be shot, and General Arhen and the boys of Blazer would have that much harder of a time taking back this world.

These droids were equipped with a number of safety protocols; if they were attacked, they had miniature laser cannons with which to defend themselves, as well as a program that would send a distress signal to a remote location, to warn the Seppies that something was amiss. The only way to avoid this scenario was to destroy the fragging thing before it saw him.

Which meant there was no time for doubt – or failure.

An inhale afforded Stonewall the focus to draw the Force around his body as one would layer on a sheltering cloak; he exhaled and noted the faintest shimmer to the air. With the next breath he stepped forward, lightsaber already in hand while the droid's repulsors tootled as the tinny went about its business. Stonewall, shielded, activated his saber and sliced cleanly through the center of the recon droid's head before it registered a threat. Two smoldering pieces of metal and wires fell to the rust-colored dirt at his boots.

"That," Kali's voice came from someplace to his left, "was kriffing beautiful."

Stonewall released his grip on the Force and the air around him returned to normal. He deactivated the saber as Kali also materialized out of nothing and lifted her goggles to regard him.

"It wasn't so hard, was it?" she added.

"Maybe." Stonewall clipped his lightsaber beneath his  _kama._ Secretly, he was too pleased with himself to be annoyed any longer, though he still had a headache, and didn't want to give in too easily. A man had to have  _some_  pride, for kriff's sake. "We should get going."

Undeterred, she nudged the defunct droid with the toe of her boot. "I'm too magnanimous of a Jedi to say, 'I told you so,'" she said, grinning. "But I  _am_  thinking it."

He sighed and turned to go, but paused and glanced her way as a thought occurred to him. "You knew the clanker was there."

"Did I?"

Even as he rolled his eyes at her feigned innocence, he was thankful she couldn't see him fight back a smile of his own. "Didn't you?"

Without answering, she slid her goggles back on and nodded to the path ahead, where the Orean desert was bright and hot, and the day was a long way from over.

* * *

_Present day..._

The wall in his mind's eye was not a memory, nor a dream.

In all honesty, Shadow was beginning to think it was a figment of his imagination. During the long hours of the journey to the Narvath sector, he had meditated upon the wall at length, but could find no way to breach or scale the barrier within his mind.

After a few hours of trying, sleep had finally come, though fitfully. It was made more so by visions of a woman with dark eyes lying dead at his feet. But she was not quite the woman he'd killed on Outland Station, and he did not know what to make of the image, much less the accompanying sense of revulsion. He made a few attempts to suss out what memories he could of the time he now thought of as Before – before he woke up on Kamino – but none came.

In the end, Shadow supposed it didn't matter. He was a soldier; when necessary, he killed. It was the way of his world. As far as he was concerned, it had always been so, even Before. Some states were constant, even without the luxury of memory.

Shadow leaned back in the cockpit chair and sipped his caf, savoring the hot trickle down his throat. The mug and everything around him was washed blue as his newly-requisitioned ship hurtled through hyperspace. The Kiffar and his wife – or so Shadow had come to think of the pair – had a well-stocked larder, and their taste in caf had been better than their luck. He took another sip.

Something chimed at the helm and he glanced down, nodding to himself as the nav alerted him to the ship's imminent arrival. Without setting the mug down, he eased the vessel out of hyperspace, blinking as the stars collapsed back into themselves and the blackness of space reappeared all around. Iktotchon, the gas giant whose moon was his destination, took up a significant portion of the ship's viewport; the pale face of the planet glowed softly against the void.

Of Iktotchon's three moons, only one was habitable. The other two, barely more than chunks of rock and ice, clung to Iktotchon's orbit like mynocks to a ship's hull. But Shadow paid them little mind as he guided the ship toward the beige sphere of Iktotch. An unremarkable world, by all accounts. Desert and mountains and wind – and Omree Taro. Whoever he was.

Shadow tipped the rest of his caf down his throat and turned his attention to the business of landing on this Force-forsaken spit of rock.

Already, he wanted to be gone.

* * *

_Later..._

_Fekking Iktotchi and their fekking prescience._

Shadow ignored the blast of grit and sand that skated across his visor as he angled the stolen speeder bike around a collection of boulders. Rust-red ground sped beneath him and the bike's engine hummed along, carrying him across the rugged terrain toward his target. Evening descended further with each moment, but he dared not use the vehicle's lights the closer he approached the mountain stronghold, where Omree Taro had been taken.

The first coordinates he'd gotten from the comlink had led him to an almost empty house in the capital city. Almost empty. Five guards whose prescience had not been enough to allow them to outlast Shadow. Before killing the last guard with his own weapon, Shadow had questioned him and learned of the Taro family home in the middle of kriffing nowhere, protected by an energy-shield and accessible only either on foot or speeder.

So here he was.

Iktotchon glowed above his head, suffusing the indigo sky with pale, watery light and washing the rocks in white. Shadow could not see the other moons. Mountains loomed in the distance, and he raced toward them, firmly thinking about nothing beyond what the next few hours would bring. There would be more guards. Those at the Taro home in Ankhela had not been surprised to see a clone, though they had also not been prepared to lose a fight with one.

The horn-heads were bigger and stronger, but Shadow had a powerful ally in the Force, plus some new blasters that rested comfortably on his hips, courtesy of the Kiffar merc. A fleeting thought of remorse slipped through his mind, but he discarded it immediately in favor of keeping his focus on the task at hand. Shadow did not remember Before, but he knew he was a soldier, and he had his orders.

As night fell, the mountains drew closer.

When he was about five klicks away from the stronghold, Shadow cut the bike's engine, stowed it beneath a shelter of stone and proceeded on foot, cloaking himself with the Force and slipping between the sentries, both droids and Iktotchi guards. Whoever this Omree Taro was, Shadow reckoned he was important, to be so heavily guarded. The stronghold was nestled in the nearest mountain, at the beginning of what looked to be a massive range. Carved into the unyielding rock, the stronghold was fortified by high walls and more guards and made even more inhospitable by being so very high above Shadow's head.

But he was not afraid of stone walls. He'd planned for mountains; a pitstop to the Taro guards' quartermaster had provided him with climbing-spikes and other accouterments necessary to scale such a wall, so he paused only to outfit himself accordingly before beginning his ascent.

The going was far from easy. Rough winds tried to pry his fingers free of the spikes, while bits of gravel and dust clattered toward him every so often, giving him the uncomfortable notion that the mountain was trying to fend him off. And although he was in peak physical condition, his muscles began to burn about halfway up, forcing him to rest more often than he'd like. In addition to this, Shadow found himself needing to draw on the Force more than was wise, though he did not have much of a choice. Using the Force drained his strength, but without it, he knew he'd not be able to complete the climb safely and unseen.

By the time he reached the stronghold itself, his hands were cramped and his shoulders ached. Despite his armor's attempts to regulate his body-temp, he was coated in layers of sweat. He wanted nothing more than to scale the final wall that would deposit him into the structure so he could collapse within, but he forced himself to crouch on a small ledge that circumnavigated the stronghold. He could not afford to wait too long – it was likely that Omree Taro suspected someone was here to assassinate him – but Shadow knew better than to rush into a fight as tired as he was.

As he waited, something buzzed inside one of his belt pouches. Carefully, Shadow withdrew his comlink and frowned at the waiting message, which he'd received during his climb but had not noticed.

_Updated Mission Objective: Eliminate TIBOR TARO. All other mission parameters remain._

Shadow exhaled in annoyance and had to check the urge to rub his forehead, lest he lose his grip and go toppling several hundred meters to the rocks below.

Who the kriff was Tibor Taro? Related to Omree Taro, no doubt, and hopefully  _here._ Shadow did not relish the idea of traipsing back to Ankhela to search for another horn-head. He signed again and glanced up, at the final bit of wall between him and the stronghold. It didn't really matter who his two targets was; he had orders to follow, and that had to be all he concerned himself with, at least for the moment.

Still, it was karking annoying. His frown deepened even as he schooled himself to patience. This could be another test of his abilities. If so, there was really only one thing to do.

Shadow had not spared more than a passing glance at the ground far below, but chose to do so now. He saw only darkness. Above his head the stars shone dimly, all but obscured by Iktotchon. The wind gnawed at his gear but did not breach the protective layer, for which he was thankful. He did not trouble himself with thoughts of the future or past. Neither mattered. His mission, his objective...that was the thing that brought order to his world. He ignored thoughts of the woman with dark eyes.

At last, Shadow felt rested enough to continue. He gathered what strength he could, scaled the final barrier between him and his target, and entered the stronghold on silent steps.

* * *

The Song was truth, always.

But that didn't mean it would not change.

Tibor had heard and he had listened, so he knew he would not live to see the end of this night. His only consolation was that Omree would be spared. After Tibor was gone, his brother would watch his son, and that would have to be enough. He tried to console himself with the thought of joining his beloved wife, Aja, in the next life.

So no more guards would be killed, he ordered the bulk of them to protect Omree, just in case. In the meantime, he settled into the conservatory and waited, and listened to the Song of his death.

* * *

Shadow was able to slip past the patrol that circled the stronghold's outer wall. He entered the structure and make his way through labyrinthine corridors that, though made of stone, felt oddly homey and warm, illuminated as they were with sconces and padded with thick, crimson carpet. There were pictures on the walls, scenery and Iktotchi, all of which he presumed had significance for the Taro family.

By now he was reaching the limits of his strength, but he was too deep within enemy territory to stop for a rest, and besides, he had a sneaking suspicion that his last-minute change of orders was a way to counteract the prescience of the locals. But orders were orders. He reached through the Force, searching for a presence that was afraid, for that, he figured, would belong to one of his targets.

There were two. One was nearby, in one of the upper-level rooms. The other was tucked deep within the stronghold and surrounded by guards.

Shadow chose the former.

* * *

The man that would kill Tibor came from the shadows. The darkness separated from itself and approached, with a faint, glowing line where the man's eyes would be. In all honesty, Tibor didn't know if it was a Human or not, but the armored form was humanoid enough so that his imagination filled in the gap. He did not rise to greet his guest.

"You are Tibor Taro?" the man asked. His voice was oddly familiar, but Tibor could not place where he'd come across it before.

Tibor nodded.

The man studied him, helmet cocking to one side as if confused. Tibor would have chuckled had he not been so afraid. "What are you waiting for?"

"It's not personal," the armored man said, drawing a blaster from his hip. "I'm only following orders."

"I know," Tibor replied. "I should have seen it coming sooner." He frowned. "The Song is never wrong, but it often changes."

If his killer wondered at the words, he did not show it. Instead, he moved closer, weapon poised. "Who is Omree Taro?"

Now, Tibor straightened in his seat, allowing anger to flash across his face, but he said nothing. Fear stuttered his heartbeat, for he doubted. What if he was wrong – again? What if the Song changed – again?  _Omree..._

The armored man sighed, a defeated sound. "Never mind. I'll find out for myself." He stepped closer, close enough for Tibor to see the nicks and scratches in his gear; close enough to smell the tibanna in his weapon as it charged.

"It will be quick," the killer said, blaster aimed. "That I can promise you. I don't know what you did to deserve this, but I don't want to drag it out."

It was too late to change anything now. Tibor closed his eyes. "Spare him," he whispered. "Please."

There was a whine, then a roar like a crashing wave, then darkness.

* * *

Half of his objective completed, Shadow stole through the stronghold, following the trail of fear and bewilderment that echoed in the Force and would lead him – he hoped – to his final target. Then it was only a matter of getting the kriff out of this karking place. No mean feat. He tried not to think about that now.

Adrenaline surged through his veins, granting him a temporary reprieve from the exhaustion that dragged at his body. Though he was still uncertain why Tibor Taro had to die, the act of killing had given Shadow a new kind of strength; it was an exhilaration that came from happening upon the inevitable, and seeing it through to its proper conclusion. He slipped through the corridors with grace.

He reached the stronghold's inner sanctum and found several hapless guards waiting for him. Fueled by adrenaline, Shadow blasted a few and hit the rest with stun bolts, to mix it up. When the final body fell, he heard another sound: a child crying. Heart hammering, he shot the lock-panel of the nearest door and entered what looked like a pantry of some kind. Within, seated in an incongruous, woodgrain crib, was an Iktotchi youngling, screaming bloody murder.

Pinned with disbelief, Shadow stared at the child.  _This_ was Omree Taro? A kid? No, not even a kid...a baby. Kriffing hell.

" _Please,"_ Tibor had whispered.  _"Spare him."_

Shadow holstered his weapon and walked to the youngling, who wailed like no child should have to. Guilt, hard and cold, swam through his veins, tangled in his stomach and pushed its way out of his throat as bile. Lest he vomit within his gear, he pulled off his helmet and tried to take a few deep breaths to gain control of himself. The baby cried for his murdered father, for his own fear. Shadow ducked his head; his whole body felt too heavy to support itself, and he wanted nothing more than to disappear into the desert outside.

Eyes squeezed shut, defenses down, something trickled through his memory.  _Buzzing aphrens and heat so thick and wet it could choke. Bright sunlight, too bright. A vapor-trail marring an otherwise blue sky._

 _"_ _The coast is clear,"_ he heard himself say, or not say. _"How is the little guy?"_

 _A dark-haired woman._ The  _dark-haired woman, cradling this child in her arms though she gazed Shadow's way with unabashed affection. Their eyes met and he was consumed with the desire to protect her and the child she carried._

Her voice echoed faintly in his memory.  _"He's a little better,"_ she replied.  _"Still scared, but very tired. And interested in you and Trax."_

Whatever was memory ended there, and Shadow reeled from the force of it all. It was too much, this weight, and it was going to break him. He had to get out.

While Omree wailed, Shadow turned on his heels and ran from his past and his present.

* * *

_Later..._

He barely made it back to the speeder bike before collapsing in utter exhaustion. It was fardling stupid to sleep out here, especially when he'd just committed murder, but he could not go another step. He'd reached his limit. Shadow curled beneath the sheltering stone where he'd stowed the bike and slept.

When he awoke, there was another message on his comlink.

_Confirmation received. Objective complete. Proceed to the following coordinates for further instruction._

As before, the message's source was Republic, as was the encryption code. Included in the message was text from some sort of news story, or perhaps a law-enforcement file. All that was stated was that Tibor Taro had been killed by an unknown assailant, and a search was being performed this very minute. No mention was made of Omree Taro.

Groaning, Shadow got to his feet and worked out some of the kinks from his joints while trying to sense if anyone was nearby. His window of escape from this wretched world was closing fast, and he had to make each moment count.

No one was close; that, or he was still too tired to function properly. Anxious to be gone from this planet, he took a chance and decided the former, and sped into the pre-dawn.

* * *

_Later, still..._

Not until Iktotch was eating his ship's exhaust trails did Shadow truly allow himself to be satisfied. His brief rest in the desert had allowed him the strength to shield himself when he reached Ankhela again, but there were a few close calls, and the spaceport had been bustling with law-enforcement. Only by virtue of the Force – and a dose of good fortune – had he been able to leave atmo undetected.

 _Objective complete._  Those two words echoed in his mind. Omree still lived, but as far as Shadow was concerned, he'd done his job, and done it well. It occurred to him that Omree had never been a target, merely a way to circumnavigate the Iktotchi's natural defense of prescience. In any case, Shadow hoped that he'd passed whatever sort of test all of this was.

His next mission awaited, but Shadow was still exhausted and decided the mission could wait a little more while he got some decent shut-eye, rationalizing that if he was tired, he'd get sloppy, and if he was sloppy, he'd get caught and the whole of this would be for nothing. So he set the nav for somewhere out of the way and fell into the nearest bunk.

When he awoke, it was hours later and he was nearly back to one-hundred percent functionality. Refreshed, he set the nav again, this time for the new coordinates he'd been given most recently. They brought him to a smoldering outpost at the edge of Republic territory; Rishi Station.

There, he found two things. The first was more orders; a new mission, and instructions to work solitary, as a spec-ops soldier. Fine.

The second was a brand new set of armor; dark-gray, glinting like hematite in the starlit night. Perfect.

Shadow knew he'd passed the test. His new life would begin in earnest.

* * *

A/N: The mention of Blazer Corps and General Arhen is a nod to the lovely and talented  **impoeia** 's OCs, found in  _Stalwart Wings_ , and other wonderful stories on her author page. If you have not done so, give her stories a look! :)

I struggled with writing Tibor's death – wouldn't he fight, or at least offer some resistance? But in the end, I think his acceptance is fitting. I imagine it's one of the pitfalls of knowing the future, or thinking you do. After a while, it becomes impossible to think you can change your fate.

Next time: A new POV, and arriving on Aruna.

As always, thanks for reading! :)


	31. Chapter Thirty

Lyrics: ["Ho Hey," by the Lumineers, from  _The Lumineers._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zvCBSSwgtg4&index=31&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp)

* * *

**Chapter Thirty**

_So show me family,_  
All the blood that I would bleed.  
I don't know where I belong,  
I don't know where I went wrong,

_But I can write a song._

_Meanwhile..._

The queen of Aruna had not been sleeping when her personal comlink chimed. These days, Sita Hari found herself lying awake for long hours after she should have dropped off, her mind abuzz with myriad worries, speculations, and potential outcomes to all the matters that plagued her. But such restlessness was normal for a planetary leader, she'd learned over the years, and generally she didn't mind being kept awake by duty.

This night, though, the comm-call indicated something beyond duty, something that pushed all other concerns from her mind.

The chime had not faded before she was upright and the comlink was in her hand. "Kali?"

"We're close," the Jedi said. "Just dropped out of hyperspace. ETA is about half an hour, give or take a few minutes."

As she gave a brief description of the ship she traveled on, Kalinda sounded exhausted, and more, which was not surprising, given what Crest had told Sita when she'd called yesterday morning. Her heart ached for her friend, but she eased past the feeling to focus on the matter at hand.

"I'll meet you at the spaceport," she said, offering a hangar number. "You already have clearance to land your vessel; Port Authority knows to expect you and will not detain you for customs. The only thing you must do is allow me to personally grant you asylum, in full view of witnesses. That way, any legal issues will be settled – for the immediate future." The queen of Aruna smoothed back her long, pale braid, considering what else should be said just now. "Does anyone need medical attention?"

"Just one," Kali replied. "Mi's in rough shape. Honi's got him in Force-stasis, but he needs a bacta tank."

Sita nodded, though the transmission was voice-only. "A medical team will be waiting." She tried to pitch her voice to be soothing. "Don't worry about a thing, my friend. Just get here in one piece."

"That's the idea." Kali thanked Sita and signed off, and the young queen exhaled into the darkness of her room.

It was late spring in this part of Aruna. The air was balmy and warm, and she favored sleeping with the windows open, though her guards always protested. But the jasmine bloomed in the garden at night, and she liked to listen to the capital city of Rudral. Gauzy curtains fluttered with a night breeze as Sita rose and began to dress, throwing on a simple tunic, breeches and silk scarf that she wove about her shoulders, as was fitting for a woman of her stature.

Once she was dressed, she comm'd Upala, the chief healer of her staff who'd been kept updated of their new arrivals, and they arranged to meet at the spaceport. By the time Sita stepped out of her quarters, she'd also comm'd the drowsy Portmaster, to alert her to expect a Maka Eekai freighter, and to grant its passengers the highest security clearance. As she hurried through the marbled palace halls, flanked by a cadre of guards, she sent a runner to the kitchens; likely Kali and her clone soldiers would be hungry. Another runner was sent to the wing she'd begun to prepare after Kali's first call, days ago. The clones and their Jedi would not want for places to sleep.

So when she reached the hangar, after a too-long shuttle ride from the palace, there wasn't much else to do besides wait, and pray. Which she did as she scanned the blanket of indigo sky.

At last, one of the younger guards lifted his hand, and Sita's breath caught as the bronze-colored ship descended through the open hangar doors. The landing struts lowered with a whine of hydraulics, and Sita's scarf fluttered from the dust and wind, but she hardly noticed. She moved to step closer, but her guard captain, Biswal, cleared his throat.

"Please, Majesty," he murmured as Upala and the medical team approached. "Let us at least make sure they are who they claim to be."

Sita frowned but nodded, and they all watched the docking ramp lower to the permacrete. When the door hissed open, her heart kicked up several paces, and she took a step forward despite Captain Biswal's displeasure. A familiar, dark-haired woman appeared first, at the head of a repulsorlift stretcher that held a man's form. Kalinda looked the worse for wear; there were dark circles beneath her eyes and her clothes were rumpled and stained. Despite her limp she still moved with grace, as did all Jedi, but there was a heaviness to her steps that Sita had never seen before.

Another familiar figure was at Kali's side, helmet clipped to his belt to reveal twin strips of hair shaved into his head. Sita searched her memory and found the name:  _Weave,_ the medic of Kali's squad. He, too, looked gray and tired, and lines were etched in his brow as his gaze darted from his patient to his next steps.

Both guided the stretcher down the ramp with great care. A Human woman with copper-bright hair walked beside it as well, though her eyes were closed and she wore a look of extreme concentration in addition to familiar, beige Jedi robes. Likely the "Honi" that Kalinda had mentioned.

Another clone trailed at the end of the stretcher; like Weave his face was bare, Sita marked the scar upon it, and remembered his name, too.  _Traxis._ His movements were jerky and he frowned as he studied the assembled guards. Sita noted that, though his hand twitched for the blaster he wore at his hip, he did not actually touch the weapon. Beside him was a blue-skinned girl who looked as if she had some Nautolan and Twi'lek blood.

A second group followed. About a dozen clones trickled out of the ship, looking around with wide eyes. Crest led them but his attention was divided between the other clones and the man on the stretcher., and he did not look her way. Sita's heart fell just a bit; it was foolish of her, but she'd thought about him constantly since their last meeting, and she'd often wondered...

Well, it didn't matter. Now was not the time for her fanciful heart; if he was amenable, they could talk later. She hoped. She dearly hoped.

The final passenger appeared in the doorway, a coral-skinned Twi'lek male who also wore a look of disbelief as he followed the clones. Sita marked him as their pilot, for he seemed reluctant to leave the ship, though he, too, made his way off of the vessel with the others.

There was one matter of legality necessary before Upala and her team could get to work. It was with effort that Sita held herself back, waiting, as was custom, for all the new arrivals to set foot on Arunai soil. She met Kali's eyes, and the dark-haired Jedi glanced behind her, where the unfamiliar clones and the Twi'lek were straggling on the loading ramp.

"Get your  _shebse_ down here," Kali said, her voice echoing in the vast hangar. "All of you. We have a little official business to attend to."

"They know we have an injured man, right?" Traxis replied.

Weave glanced from the other Jedi to Milo. "Time is of the essence."

"Sita must officially sanction our arrival before she can let us into the city," Kalinda said wearily. "So let her."

Taking the words as a cue, Sita lifted her hand. "You are all on Arunai soil. Has anyone among you been coerced, or brought here against his or her will?"

Confused glances met hers, but no one said anything. She nodded and continued, silently praying her voice would be steady. "Very well. Let it be known among these witnesses," she gestured to her guards, Upala and the other medical staff, "that Sita Hari, queen of the Aruna system, grants asylum to these assembled. From this moment forward, you are, for all intents and purposes, considered citizens of Aruna. By the authority bestowed upon me, by the will of the gods, so mote it be."

Years of training in public speaking had refined the rougher edges of her hill-country accent into a smooth cadence, made more so when she spoke as Queen. Sometimes, when Sita looked in the mirror, she did not recognize the little orphan girl she'd once been, though that girl still lived within her heart. She glanced at Crest again; this time, his gaze was riveted on her, but the moment their eyes met, he looked away.

The other clones cast each other incredulous looks, as did Kalinda, though her words were Jedi-calm. "Is that all you need to do?"

"There is a document that must be prepared," Sita replied, stepping forward to embrace her friend. "But it can wait."

Her movement was the signal the others had waited for. As one, the medical staff rushed forward to Milo, setting up an IV tap and whatever else they needed. But Sita marked this distantly, just for now, for the bulk of her attention was on the dark-haired woman who slumped in her arms.

"Welcome back, Kali," she whispered.

The Jedi hugged her close. "Thank you."

* * *

Weave's attention was divided between his  _vod_ and the woman keeping Milo alive.

Before Honi Tallis, he'd never watched a true Jedi Healer at work. Oh, he'd seen Jedi perform minor healing acts – soothing a blaster-burn, knitting a torn muscle, calming a man near panic – but had always gotten the sense that such acts were mundane among the Force-users, like how any clone, medic or not, could slap a bacta patch on an injured brother.

But his appreciation of the Force was expanded, exponentially, on Kamino, when he'd watched the copper-haired Jedi kneel beside Milo – who was barely clinging to life – and do...something. He still was not certain what, exactly. Kalinda had said something about a kind of Force-stasis called  _morichro,_ but she'd not elaborated and Weave had not wanted to burden her with too many questions. Instead, he'd watched in numb amazement as Tallis meditated with one hand on his  _vod_ and Milo's vital signs stabilized.

She'd kept it up all the way from Kamino, not breaking her concentration once during the journey. As he followed the repulsorlift stretcher through the gleaming palace halls, Weave could see the strain was starting to take its toll on the Jedi Healer. Her cheeks were flushed and her breath was short, as if she'd been sprinting, but shadows had appeared beneath her eyes. Her hands trembled. He thought she was about to collapse, but she did not seem to be aware of anything beyond whatever she was doing to Milo. Honestly, he was not certain he wanted her to be, not with Mi's life at stake.

But still. What she had done, what she was doing...

 _Extraordinary,_ he thought as the repulsorlift stretcher was guided into one of the palace rooms.

Crest, Trax, and Zara had been tasked with showing The Dregs clones to their new accommodations, so it was just Weave, Kalinda, and Tallis escorting Milo, along with the queen of the entire system, a coterie of guards  _and_  Arunai medical staff. Had he not been so worried for his  _vod,_ Weave would have been mildly amused at the procession following Mi's stretcher.

Queen Hari and Kalinda walked behind him, speaking in low tones that still carried, so he heard the Arunai woman explain how this particular room had been outfitted with a bacta tank and a host of other medical accouterments.

"I would have sent you to the hospital," the queen was saying. "But I thought you'd want to keep your presence here quiet, at least for now."

"I honestly hadn't thought that far ahead," Kalinda replied. "But you're right. Thank you."

"Upala has assured me that the facilities we've created here are more than up to the task," the queen added as they entered the room.

It was lavishly decorated, though it had been converted to a makeshift hospital. Couches, chairs, tables and other furniture had been pushed to one side to make space for the bacta tank and exam table, along with a bio-bed and a privacy screen.

Once Mi had been eased into a pair of clean shorts, the chief healer among the Arunai directed the repulsorlift stretcher to the empty bacta tank. The sides were retracted down, leaving only the base and top, which held the harness that would keep Mi stable once the tank was filled. Next to the tank was a cylindrical reservoir of clean bacta and a filtration unit, which would cycle out any toxins or bacteria.

The techs carefully strapped Milo into the stretcher so he would not topple over, then raised it to a ninety-degree angle, so that Mi's body was upright. Weave helped ease him into the tank and fastened him into the padded support straps, hanging low from the top of the tank. As they did, another technician activated the tank itself; transparisteel walls began to rise from the base as the unit slowly filled with the watery-blue healing substance. Still another fastened an IV tap to his arm and a breathing mask over his nose and mouth; a few small sticky nodes were placed upon his chest, neck and temple, in order to monitor his vital signs. A continuous drip of conergin, a sedative, was included in the IV tap, in order to keep Milo unconscious while his body healed; after the appropriate amount of time had passed, the drip would be slowed and eventually stopped, so Milo could wake on his own.

Despite a few wary glances at the clones, the medical team was efficient. Barely three minutes after entering the room, Milo was floating safely in bacta, and for the first time in days, Weave breathed a sigh of true relief. Force-stuff was all well and good, but there was nothing like bacta when it came to healing.

Once he'd looked everything over, he glanced at Tallis, who'd not ceased whatever she was doing until the last possible moment, despite confused looks from the Arunai staff. Now she stood beside Kalinda, leaning a little heavily on the other woman, and her face was paler than normal. Kalinda's arm was around Tallis' shoulders, though her eyes were on Milo's floating form.

Tank and patient secure, the technicians began to ease out of the immediate area, while the chief healer approached the queen and Jedi. "He is stable for the time being," Upala said in a low voice. "We will monitor his condition, of course, but I estimate he will need to be in the tank for several days."

"How much nerve damage do you think there'll be?" Weave asked. "I did a perfunctory scan on Kamino, but wasn't able to tell for certain."

Upala opened her mouth, but Tallis replied first. "It is not severe, but I believe it will be some months before he has full use of his arm again. We will work out a plan for his rehabilitation."

Weave's heart sank and he regarded his brother once more. It was not the worst news, of course; Mi could have lost the arm. But he knew it would be a difficult road for a man unused to having any sort of handicap.

"He was struck with a vibrosword?" Upala asked.

Kalinda nodded.

"Then it could have been much more severe," Upala said gently. "He's very lucky the blade didn't pierce his heart. I don't know if even your efforts would have been enough, then, Master Jedi."

This was said to Tallis, who frowned and lifted her chin. "No, you  _don't_  know. I do. They would have."

Kalinda gave her a warning look but it was Queen Hari who spoke next, stepping forward so that she stood between the Jedi and Upala. "Thank you," she said to her healer. "Thank your staff as well, please. We are all grateful for your hard work."

Upala gave a bow and moved away, back to the bacta tank. Queen Hari looked at Kalinda and Tallis. "You are both exhausted. Come, let me show you to your rooms–"

"No." Tallis straightened and stepped away from Kalinda. "He is my patient. I'm not leaving him."

"Honi–"

But Tallis ignored her former teacher. "He is  _my_ patient."

She met Weave's eyes as she said this, and he saw within hers the same kind of determination he'd felt so many times. A non-healer would not understand this drive to remain near one's patient, just in case. Those words haunted every medic's waking hours.  _Just in case._

"I'll stay as well," Weave heard himself say. "Just in case."

Kalinda nodded, though she pulled him aside before she left with the queen. " _Morichro_  takes so much out of her; no matter what she says, please see that she gets some rest. She's about dead on her feet."

He glanced at the copper-haired woman, standing before Milo's tank as she examined the settings. "Understood." He gave Kali a knowing look. "You need rest, too."

"I'm going, I'm going," she replied, smiling.

Soon it was just Weave and Tallis and the quietly bubbling tank that held his brother. Upala and her staff had retired to one corner of the room, though Weave knew they were monitoring Milo's vitals on the datapads they carried. Neither Weave nor the Jedi spoke as they watched Milo, though the medic could not help but cast a surreptitious glance her way. In the faint blue light cast by the tank, the blue of her eyes was exaggerated, and Weave was close enough to see the freckles scattered across her cheeks.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

She inclined her head but said nothing as her blue eyes darted over Mi's form. "The harness should be adjusted. It's going to aggravate the site of injury."

Weave studied the harness; one of the straps was a few inches away from the wound on Milo's upper chest, but it was not touching the affected area. Unless Mi were to shift around, in which case...

"Maybe we can get them to adjust it tomorrow," he offered. "I think he's okay for now."

The Jedi exhaled. "For now."

Weave put his palm against the cool glass; Milo's face was mostly obscured by the breathing mask, but he looked peaceful enough. "We heal quickly, at least."

"Do you?"

"Courtesy of the Kaminoans. It's not by much, but our cells do recover a little faster than other Humans." He gave a tired chuckle. "Trax says it's still not enough to make up for the shortened life span, but I suppose we should take what we can."

She turned to regard him. "Shortened lifespan?"

He flinched. Of course this was common knowledge among clones, but many of the non-clones he'd encountered had no idea. Apparently the intel had been part of General Kenobi's official report from his first visit to Kamino, but there was no telling how closely the other Jedi had studied the document.

"In order to grow and train us in an adequate amount of time, the Kaminoans tweaked our genetic structure so that we age at twice the rate of other Humans."

Tallis' eyes widened a fraction, but her voice was cool as ever. "I was not aware that was the case."

"It makes sense, I suppose." Weave lifted his hand from the glass; the imprint left by his palm faded almost at once. "Especially since – I imagine – they presumed most of us would not live long enough to reach 'old age.'"

"Weave," she said quietly, "how old are you?"

"Almost thirteen years."

She stared at him, and for the first time since her initial meeting with Kalinda, he saw true shock on her face. He tried not to find the expression amusing – or endearing – though he had a feeling she was a woman not easily shocked. Instead, he tried to offer her some reassurance.

"It's something we all accept," he said with a shrug. "You can't miss what you've never known. Though," he frowned, "it probably explains why Stonewall was so eager to...marry Kali."

"Perhaps," she said, shaking her head. "Thirteen years. Zara's older than you."

Weave cleared his throat. "Technically speaking, yes, but biologically, I'm about twenty-five."

She exhaled and, to his surprise, lifted a hand to her face. Her head ducked and she looked almost like she was in pain. Medic-senses on alert, Weave placed his hand on her shoulder, drawing her attention. "General? Are you alright?"

Blue eyes met his as she assessed him in a new way, though he could not discern whether or not it was positive. "I may be a little tired," she admitted at last. "Perhaps I should sit..."

The words trailed off and she slumped; only by virtue of him being so attuned to her was he able to prevent her from falling. In his arms, she was warm and soft, and he could not stop himself from appreciating the lithe, faint curves of her slender form. But he pushed away the thoughts and glanced at the medical staff across the room, most of whom had raised their heads at Tallis' near-fall.

"Queen Hari mentioned we have rooms somewhere," Weave said, adjusting his hold on the Jedi. "Could one of you show me?"

Upala rose and came to him. "I'll take you there," she said, indicating the doorway. "Please, this way."

As they left, Weave cast one last look at his  _vod. It will be okay, Mi,_ he thought with a sigh.  _I promise._

* * *

_Meanwhile..._

Crest entered the room first, the Padawan on his heels. As he remembered from his squad's last visit to this world, the space was lavish, but comfortable. Silk curtains fluttered beside the windows, and plush, braided rugs covered the marbled floor. Like everywhere else in the palace, the suite was the height of luxury; such a far cry from the utilitarian barracks where he'd spent his formative years, or the cramped cabin aboard the  _Wayfarer_  he'd shared with Trax.

Also as before, Crest was a little unnerved by the opulence, but thought, with a tiny measure of guilt, that it was something he wouldn't mind getting used to. He stepped in further, waving the other clones along as well. He was not expecting an ambush here, of course, but his steps turned tentative when he caught sight of the feast.  _Holy kriff..._

Sita had told them that food would be provided, but he'd had no idea it would be so  _much._ A veritable buffet was spread across two tables: steaming heaps of long-grained rice rested beside a pile of roasted nuna and some crunchy, breaded things filled with topatoes and veggies that he'd gorged on, last time. There were other dishes whose names he could never remember, though their tastes flooded his memory with each spice-scented inhale: ju, catabar, tomo, tumerind, negamo. There were stacks of freshly-baked bread, and his stomach growled in anticipation.

Eyes closed, the Padawan inhaled deeply. "Oh, wow. This smells amazing."

"Fek," Traxis muttered, coming to stand beside Crest. "I hope they saved some for the rest of the planet."

A long, low table was placed on one end of the room, with padded seats close to the floor, in Arunai fashion. Glasses and jugs of water were already waiting. Crest glanced behind him at the clones they'd brought from Kamino; the fellows were clumped together in the corridor, eyes wide and glancing up, down, all around, like they'd never been inside a  _shabla_ building before. The two clone guards had removed their buckets, and though they tried to keep the amazement from their faces, it was clear they'd never seen anything like this either.

The only one not totally rapt by the sight was Levy, whose gaze kept flickering back in the direction they'd left Milo, though he remained near Zara's side.

With a clap of his hands, Crest snapped the others out of their reverie and indicated the closest table, which, in addition to more food than he was used to seeing in one place, had stacks of plates and cups of flatware.

"Alright, shinies," he said in as commanding a voice as he could muster. "Grub time. Help yourselves, but for kriff's sake don't spill anything."

No one moved.

Crest sighed and reached for the one-armed fellow, Zero. "C'mon,  _vod_ ," he said, tugging the clone along by his shirt-collar. "I'll help get you started."

* * *

About a quarter of an hour later, it was evident that hunger trumped anxiety over new things, and The Dregs clones – Misfit Squad, Crest couldn't help but consider them – eagerly tucked into the Arunai feast. He was happy to join them.

Most of Misfit Squad ate quietly, though after a little while a few halting conversations began. Even not knowing these guys very well, Crest noted that a few cliques had formed among them. Zero, the fellow with one arm, seemed to have the largest group of buddies, including the blind clone and the bad-batcher, Trig. The medic, Cobble, sat next to Levy but said nothing. Ward and Halligan did not speak to anyone but each other.

Crest and Trax sat at one end of the table, backs to the nearest wall so they could see the door and also keep an eye on the somewhat-shinies. Zara and Levy sat at the other end, and Crest found he was glad to have someone with Jedi-senses around, even though he figured they were all safe here. Old habits and all.

But someone was missing. "Where's our intrepid pilot?" he asked Traxis between mouthfuls of flatbread and rice.

"At his ship, I guess."

"You don't think he's hungry?"

Traxis stirred his food with his fork. "How the fek should I know?"

"You've been hanging around him enough," Crest said, swallowing. He dropped his pitch so the others would not overhear, and added, "You like him?"

"None of your effing business."

"That's a 'yes.'"

The scarred clone's jaw got tight. "Leave it alone."

"I'm just making conversation." Crest sighed and scooped up a bite of some kind of tuber mash. "Calm down."

Scowling, Traxis met Crest's eyes. "Do you hear me asking about  _your_ white-haired queen? I can, you know. Any more garden interludes yet?"

"How did...?" Crest's stomach dropped to the vicinity of his knees and he flushed.  _Ouch. Comeuppance is a_ shabla _bitch sometimes._ "I never talked about her to you. To  _any_ of you."

Except Kalinda, of course, but he didn't think she'd have said anything since he'd asked her not to. She was, so he'd recently learned, excellent at secret-keeping.

"You aren't as subtle as you think, Baldy." Traxis turned his attention back to his food. "And you talk in your sleep."

 _Kriff._ Crest heaved a sigh and rubbed his forehead. "How much do you know?"

Rather than reply with words, Trax met Crest's eyes, puckered his lips and made a loud, drawn-out kissing sound that caused the clones nearby to glance at them curiously. Flushing harder, Crest shushed his  _vod_ , who smirked and dug into his meal again.

" _Di'kut,_ " Trax muttered, taking a bite of rice.

"Okay, I  _may_ have deserved that," Crest replied.

"' _May_ ' have?"

Crest rolled his eyes. "Fine. I definitely deserved that."

Appetite suddenly gone, he studied his plate a moment, pushing around a piece of nuna. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Levy look up at the doorway again, as the lad had done every minute or so since they'd entered the room. Poor  _adiik_ was worried about Mi. Crest didn't blame him. A dozen times during dinner he'd opened his mouth to mention his  _vod_ to Trax, but always snapped his jaws shut. Weave was with Milo, as was a Jedi Healer, who, though her interpersonal skills were somewhat lacking, seemed pretty damn good at her job. Kali was there, too, not to mention a whole flock of Arunai doctors.

It would have to be enough.

Still, Crest wished he could do something to help poor Mi. At least his younger  _vod_ was within reach. Not like...

In an effort to  _not_ think about Stonewall, Crest glanced at Traxis once more. "It was just a couple of kisses, months and months ago. I doubt it meant anything to her."

To his surprise, Trax's gaze on him was not without kindness. "Not like it does to you."

"Maybe."

Presuming that Sita had thought about him even a fraction of the times he'd thought about her was fardling stupid, not to mention self-centered. Likely she had plenty of other, more important matters on her mind, as evidenced by the coterie of guards and attendants that had met the  _Stark Raven_ when they'd landed. In all likelihood, the queen of a system like Aruna did not trouble herself over one measly clone. Their kisses were probably a way for her to satisfy some latent curiosity, or perhaps she was simply doing him a good turn, thinking him pathetic; how many other women would he get a chance to kiss? Fek, he was still humiliated that he'd all but started bawling over their comm-conversation the other day.

Crest sighed. "This might sound fruity, but she's on my mind a lot. Sometimes at the most random moments, like in the diner the other day. I'll see a woman who I should want to flirt with, who I  _do_ flirt with, but it's just like...a placeholder. Just someone to take my mind off of  _her._ Because I know it's a  _shabla_ dream. She's...royalty, and I'm, well...not. But I can't help but think of her."

Trax sipped his water. "Yeah, you're right. That's pretty effing fruity."

Crest stared at him a moment, then gave a helpless chuckle. "You would know, wouldn't you?"

Trax raised his brow. "You want to go there? 'Cause I've knocked folks into next Primeday for less."

"You won't," Crest said, grinning. Just in case any of the other guys got the wrong idea, he switched to Mando'a, so only he and his brother would understand what was being said. "You love me,  _vod._ You know I'm just teasing."

"I do," Traxis replied, also in gruff Mando'a. "But I won't hesitate to knock your sorry  _shebs_ to the ground if you keep saying stupid  _osik_."

Trust Trax to make him smile, no matter what. "Copy that."

The scarred clone shook his head once, muttering something Crest didn't catch, though he assumed it was both unflattering and directed his way. Before he decided if he wanted to know, Zara's head popped up; Levy's followed a beat later as Weave entered the room. The medic's steps were heavy and he paused to survey the assembled clones before making his way to Crest and Trax, who immediately made room for him at the low table. After an inquiry, Traxis rose to grab Weave a plate of food while Crest poured him some water.

"Thanks," Weave said in Mando'a, sighing as he settled down. He said nothing more until Trax returned with his plate, and began to eat, albeit slowly. "Mi's stable," he added without waiting for the obvious questions. "He's sedated so the bacta can do its work; hopefully he'll be out of the tank in about three days."

Crest glanced at Levy, who was watching Weave with wide eyes. "I'm glad to hear Milo is stable and will be alright," he said in Basic, just loud enough for the kid to hear. "Thanks,  _vod."_

"Don't thank me. It's mostly Tallis' doing." Weave took another few bites. "She was about to collapse. I had to carry her to her room."

A grin threatened to split Crest's face, but a warning look from Traxis advised him to push the legion of potential jokes back down his throat. "Very chivalrous of you," he said instead, looking at the last of his bread.

Weave regarded him, brow furrowed. "It's not like you're thinking. Stop."

"I didn't say anything!"

"I know how your mind works," Weave replied. Some of the other clones cast them odd looks, but no one commented. Of course not. Crest mentally rolled his eyes; it was a little creepy, how non-banter-y they were.

"Yeah, Crest," Trax added, smirking. At Crest's expense, no less. "Get your mind out of the  _shabla_  gutter. He was  _helping_ her, alright? Fek."

Crest threw up his hands. "I can't kriffing win with you lot, I swear."

His  _vode_ exchanged looks that let him know that yes, they were giving him  _haran_ for no reason other than to annoy, but that's what brothers did. He could never stay ticked off at any of them for too long, anyway. So he patted Weave's back.

"Thanks for looking out for the one who's looking out for Milo."

It was not Crest's imagination that Weave's cheeks colored as took a long, long sip of water. "It's my duty," the medic said mildly. "Now, the minute we finish here, we'll need to get some rest. And I doubt that any of them," he indicated Misfit Squad, "have had food this rich before, so very likely there'll be a run for the 'fresher in a couple of hours. Have you assigned beds yet? How many rooms are there?"

"We'll figure it out," Crest replied. "Just focus on your own dinner. Medics need R and R, too, you know."

Weave harrumphed. "I'll rest later."

"Yes, you effing will," Traxis said.

"Right," Crest added. "We'll make sure of it. That's  _our_ duty."

It was gratifying to see Weave both roll his eyes, and make an accompanying half-smile at their insistence. After all, this was what brothers were for.

* * *

_Meanwhile..._

"It can wait until morning."

Kali shook her head. "I don't want to take any chances, Sita. I have no idea if anyone from the Republic will come looking for us. Where is the document?"

The Arunai woman sighed, but withdrew a small datapad that had been tucked into the folds of her dress. She scanned it, then offered it and a stylus to Kali. They were alone, seated in one of the rooms that the queen had appointed to Kali and her companions, and the bed was perhaps the softest thing Kali had felt in a long time. She tried not to think of the last time she'd been in a room like this. It had been with Stonewall, of course; he'd just gotten his Force-abilities, and was learning to use them in the most entertaining ways.

It was a clear-cut document; simply a written form of what Sita had proclaimed earlier in the hangar. Kali, as a Jedi Knight and the most senior-ranking member of her group, had the legal authority to sign for everyone, though she figured to ask the others – clones and Jedi alike – to sign once they had the chance. She scribbled her full name and pressed her thumb against the 'pad's screen, leaving her virtual signature in more ways than one. Sita did the same, and it was done.

"There," the queen said, nodding as she tucked the 'pad away. "I'll have copies made for everyone. Would you like me to send this to the Council?"

Kali exhaled. She'd hardly thought about the Council since leaving the Core, and she was in no hurry to start now. "Maybe later," she said at last. "Let's not stir the pot just yet."

"Very well. I'll have your ship unloaded in the morning. Do you need anything else right now?"

 _Nothing you can provide that you haven't already._ Kali shook her head. "No, thank you. And it's not my ship; I hired the pilot to bring us here."

Sita toyed with the hem of her shirt and Kali studied her friend for a moment, noticing for the first time the ripples of agitation that pooled around the younger woman's Force-presence; she thought it was an agitation that had nothing to do with the newest arrivals to the palace.

"Are you alright?" Kali asked. "I've been so focused on my own problems...I never once asked about yours."

"You assume I have them."

Kali gave a tired chuckle. "Everyone has them."

"They are not important at the moment," Sita said quickly. "And certainly nothing new, at any rate." At Kali's look she sighed. "Aruna's path to becoming a democracy is more difficult than I anticipated. I am trying, but old ways are difficult to change."

"Have there been any further threats to your life?"

Sita shook her head. "Most of the opposition is from the higher castes, who see democracy as a means to siphon their influence away. They claim to have no common ground with the lower castes, and as long as they remain inflexible, I fear the cycle of debate within the Parliament will never end."

"War has a way of polarizing people," Kali said gently. "To say nothing of opinions. Perhaps they will see reason, eventually,"

"Perhaps." Sita sighed and met Kali's eyes, less a queen now, more than ever. "May I ask you one more thing?"

"Name it."

The Arunai woman hesitated, running cinnamon colored hands along her pale braid, then she winced. "Never mind. It can wait." With that, she rose from the bed and made to leave the room. "You should rest. I'll show myself out."

"Sita." Kali looked up, watching the other woman pause. "You've gone above and beyond for us. Have I thanked you, yet?"

The queen smiled at her. "Profusely."

Kali's head ducked. "Allow me to do so one more time. Thank you – from the bottom of my foolish heart."

Sita clasped her hands and bowed at the waist. "You are most welcome, my friend."


	32. Chapter Thirty-One

Lyrics:[ "Patient Love," (acoustic version) by Passenger, from  _All The Little Lights_.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FTStgJ77re8&index=32&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp)

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-One**

_And though the sand may be washed by the sea,_

_And the old will be lost in the new,_

_Well, four will not wait for three,_

_For three never waited for two,_

_And though you will not wait for me,_

_I'll wait for you._

_The next morning..._

Ares closed the protective cover of the left engine nacelle with a satisfying  _clang._ One of the coolant hoses had come loose, but a shot of sealant would solve the problem once it sat for a few minutes. Aside from that minor issue, and despite the anxiety-inducing nature of this entire job, his beloved  _Raven_ had emerged unscathed. Always a cause for celebration.

He checked again to ensure the cover was intact before making his way to the boarding ramp, still lowered to accommodate the Arunai palace workers who'd unloaded all of his former passengers' equipment. He still needed to do a final sweep of the ship to ensure they had not left anything behind, but he had a feeling he would find nothing.

During the flurry of landing and unloading the injured man, Ares had managed to hang back and remain with his ship. If anyone noticed, they made no comment. Where that would once have pleased him – in his experience, it was better to  _not_ be noticed – last night he'd found himself hoping that wouldn't be the case. He'd wanted to be missed.

That was dangerous. That was a klaxon call, a warning to abandon this world and these people.

One, in particular.

It was early morning, barely past dawn, and if he looked through the open hangar ceiling, pale golden light filtered through wispy clouds. Rudral, the capital city, was already stirring. Despite his other inclinations, Ares had a notion to stick around a few hours more, maybe explore the city.

But it was a fleeting notion. He had work to find, a payment to make. A life to live. He could always return here later.

Ares paused at the base of the ramp, withdrew the cigarra he'd found in the engine room from his pocket, lit it, and reveled in that first, steadying rush of smoke in his lungs. The cigarra was old and stale, but it didn't matter. Memory filled in the less-than-pleasant gaps in his present circumstances while he exhaled a stream of blue smoke into the morning light.

"You know, that  _osik_ will kill you."

Despite everything, Trax's gruff voice made him smile, though he hid the expression with another long drag. "I should be so lucky."

He turned to see the armored figure approaching, a plasti-bag in one hand, helmet clipped to his belt. There was no one else in the hangar, and Traxis' boots echoed on the permacrete platform. Ares tensed at the clone's approach; it was not entirely defensive, though it should have been. They'd not spoken in private since Traxis had punched him, and Ares was not certain what, if anything, he should say. Traxis had made his feelings abundantly clear; despite Ares' best efforts, he did not trust the tailhead. Ares, who knew himself far better than he would have liked, thought the clone was wise to withhold his trust. He knew he was meant to be on his own.

"You didn't join us last night. I thought you might be hungry." Traxis reached the ramp and brandished the bag. "It's good food, especially if you like spicy stuff."

Ares blew out another stream of smoke, taking care to angle it away from the scarred clone. "You didn't have to do that."

Traxis did not reply, only set the bag upon the ramp and peered into the ship. "I passed a bunch of folks from the palace, toting our gear over. They get everything?"

"To my knowledge." Ares flicked away the ash that had accumulated on the end of the cigarra. "I will do one final check before I leave this morning."

Traxis frowned. "You're leaving already?"

There was remorse in his voice, which Ares did not want to hear. His left  _lek, tchun,_ twitched in response, but he ignored it. "The job is finished," he said with a shrug and another pull on the cigarra. "It's time to part ways."

"But..." Traxis glanced around the hangar, where shafts of morning light slanted around them. He exhaled and ran a hand over his face. "Look, I fekked up, on Kamino. I shouldn't have assumed the worst. I definitely shouldn't have punched you. But I did, and I'm sorry."

The way he said it...Ares got the notion that Traxis hoped the words would become something else; a tether, or, at the very least, a reason to reconsider. But he would be disappointed. Idly, Ares touched the back of his hand to his jaw, which had finally stopped hurting after a copious amount of bacta had been applied. He watched Traxis watch him, and wince.

But Ares didn't remark on the soon-to-be-bruise, or the punch. Those things were in the past, and he'd been the recipient of far worse blows from less-pleasant people. He nodded once. "Apology accepted, Traxis."

"And...about the other stuff," Traxis went on, placing one foot on the ramp and leaning his weight against it, as if he alone could keep the ship in place. "I know I've been too...forward with you. Too fekking pushy."

"You already–"

Traxis glared. "Shut up and let me explain myself, alright?"

Despite himself, Ares chuckled and took a seat on the ramp, one leg bent before him, one boot resting on the permacrete hangar floor. The cigarra was nearly gone; he gave one more drag against it, savoring the calm that flooded his system. Kriff; he needed it. "Very well."

Traxis' glare deepened, but he, too, sat on the ramp, opposite Ares, armored back facing the Twi'lek but body twisted so that they were somewhat eye-to-eye. "I don't understand how civvies do things," he said slowly. "All the guys I've been with have been clones, and most of us don't have a lot of extra time to eff around with flirtatious  _osik._  Everything is straightforward and," his hand closed into a fist and connected with his other palm, "to the point. Easy.

"Not like you," he added in a quiet voice. "I had no fekking clue how to handle myself around you, so I karked it up royally and acted like a  _shabla_ asshole. And I'm sorry for that, too."

The cigarra was gone, but all of Ares' carefully constructed calm had fled, and his hand trembled. He bought some time by stubbing out the cigarra on the edge of the ramp, and pocketed the end. It was better, too, to not have to look into those earnest, almost-golden eyes as he replied. "You're not easy, either."

Trax gave a bark of laughter. "You were there on Corrie, right? When I threw myself at you like a crinking Hutt's pleasure-slave?"

 _Slave._ The word made Ares' jaw clench and his stomach roil. Even now, years later, it haunted him.  _Tchun_ itched, and he longed for another cigarra. "You did what you felt you had to do. You acted how you knew to act. It was the wrong choice, but it was not an easy one, and I find I cannot fault you for it, not when I have made, ah, similar choices."

He toyed with the hem of his jacket, considering. Trax wore the armor, but it was Ares who kept himself hidden. Could he reveal this part of himself? Should he? What good would it do, anyway? He was leaving this world. In some ways, he was already gone.

At last he glanced at Traxis, who watched him with open curiosity. "I left Ryloth when I was fourteen," he said quietly. "I snuck away from my parent's farm in the middle of the night. I wanted adventure and excitement. I wanted to travel the galaxy and see everything I could. I lasted three months before I was captured by slavers. That was twelve years ago."

"You were a slave?" Trax's brows knitted, tugging at the scar on the left side of his face. "How long...?"

"Eight years."

Trax's anger was quick. Like a sudden summer storm it clouded his expression and pulled his entire face into darkness. "Eight years," he growled. "That's almost a third of your kriffing life."

Ares shrugged. "It's in the past, now."

"But..." Traxis' hands tightened into fists, and Ares was conscious of just how much damage those hands could do if they were so inclined, for all that the man attached to them seemed at a loss. There were no doubt a host of questions on his mind, but Ares thought Trax did not know how to ask, or if he even should.

So he spared Traxis the trouble of making a decision. "Twi'leks, particularly young and attractive ones, are a commodity across the galaxy. It was made clear to me very quickly that my usefulness was only on my knees – or my back – and my compliance would ensure I was treated well."

 _Tchun_ trembled. Ares winced and added, "Enough."

These memories he'd tried to shutter away, but sometimes they crept back, usually when he was tired or scared or angry. Whenever he most wanted to be strong, he remembered how easily he could break. The base of his  _lekku_ itched and he reached in his coat pocket for a pack of cigarras that wasn't there. His fingertips brushed something else, though, and he nearly chuckled at the idea that their weight, of all things, he'd gotten used to.

"Learning how to survive was simple. Learning how to thrive was not. But I managed. By the time I got out, I understood how to accomplish my goals. I understood that sex was merely a means to an end." He indicated his body with a sweep of his gloved hand, and the lines on Traxis' forehead deepened.

"How did you get out?"

Ares smiled, but it was not without some bitterness. "All those years, freedom was my main goal. I found someone willing to oblige, for a price I knew well how to pay." He shrugged, allowing Trax to fill in the necessary gaps. "It may not seem like much of a difference, but without a slave collar, there is a rather large distinction between  _choice_ and  _compulsion._ "

With a sigh, he withdrew the lightsaber hilts and offered them to the clone, who gaped at him as he tentatively accepted. "Why?"

"Because I am...what are the words you are so fond of?" Ares tilted his head in thought. "Ah, yes. A  _shabla di'kut."_ He rather liked the cadence of those words. Mando'a, in general, was an interesting language; perhaps he should learn a little more.

"You're not a  _di'kut_."

"Then you do not know me as well as you believe," Ares replied easily. "Your Jedi made a difficult choice. I made another, which will very likely come back to bite me in the  _choobies._ Such is life. At least I am free to make such, ah, idiotic decisions."

Traxis looked at the hilts again, but he shook his head and his voice held traces of uncertainty. "Cad Bane doesn't seem like the forgiving type."

"I've dealt with worse than him. No doubt I will again." Ares waited for Traxis to clip the sabers to his belt before he got to his feet. It was time.

Trax stood as well, and they regarded each other for a moment before Ares offered his hand. Trax's grip was strong, and warm even through both of their gloves. Ares allowed himself a moment of remorse before he broke the handshake.

"Please tell the others I said goodbye. Particularly Kalinda." He would always think of the dark-haired woman with fondness; she was the first Jedi he'd met, and if there were others like her, the Order was not as rigid as it often seemed from an outsider's perspective. Whatever she hoped to accomplish with the men she'd rescued from Kamino, she certainly had her work cut out for her.

Trax nodded, but his next words were rough. "For fek's sake, take care of yourself."

"You as well, my friend."

"And don't smoke those effing things. Weave could give you a thousand reasons why they're terrible for you."

Choices, choices. Ares made no response other than to collect the bag of food and step toward his ship. He tried to ignore the part of his heart that urged him to stay, or at least move slower.

As his boots touched the threshold, Traxis' deep voice cut through the morning air again. "Ares...  _Ni ceta._ "

Turning, Ares watched the clone stand beside the ramp, gaze on him. At his look, Traxis' eyes widened, as if in surprise, as if he'd not expected Ares to hear the hushed words. It was an incongruously endearing expression, and that same, traitor part of Ares' heart whispered,  _stay._

But he had no real reason to stay, and every reason to leave.

"Is that more of your Mando'a?" Ares asked.

Traxis frowned. "I felt like I should apologize again."

"It won't change anything." Ares exhaled deeply, savoring the memory of cigarra smoke. "But I would advise you to find an alternative to such 'easy' methods as the one you attempted on Coruscant. You're better than that, Traxis."

The scarred clone's eyes dropped and he said nothing for a moment, long enough so that Ares wondered if he was going to say anything at all. Just when the silence hit that uncomfortable, too-long mark, Traxis spoke.

"You are, too."

* * *

The  _Stark Raven_ loved to fly, almost as much as Ares. Within ten minutes, he was above Rudral, rocketing away from Aruna and the scarred soldier, though it was not without a heavy heart.

* * *

After all that, it was still early, and the streets were quiet. Traxis only caught a few odd looks as he returned to the palace, though he wondered if they had more to do with the lightsabers at his belt than the white gleam of his kit. Rudral was a city filled with colors, after all; Traxis stood out like a gundark in a petting zoo.

Had Stonewall had such thoughts, when he wore the saber beneath his  _kama_? Traxis grimaced as he trotted up the steps to the palace, nodding to the guards who'd been instructed to give him and his brothers free rein. It was weird to carry the lightsabers, and he was by no means capable of using even  _one_  correctly.

How the  _shab_ would it feel to have the Force, too?

The uncomfortable understanding finally began to sink in: Traxis had been too harsh with his captain, on Balasi and in general. Understanding sunk in further when he thought of the coral-skinned Twi'lek who, even now, was preparing to leave this world and never look back. While most clones experimented with one another in their cadet days, only a few maintained those practices once they hit maturity. Among clones, preferring blasters to holsters was the exception, not the rule. Trax shared his brothers' faces, but he was different. He should have been more sympathetic to Stonewall.

 _Fek. I'm the_ shabla di'kut _._

Hopefully he'd get a chance to apologize to his captain, though kriff it all...he was doing a lot of that these days.

A distant whine cut through his thoughts. He paused a few steps below the arching stone doors that led into the palace proper. Turning, he watched a familiar ship lift above the city from the direction of the spaceport, angle for the light-drenched sky, and dart towards the upper-level clouds. Traxis followed the  _Stark Raven's_ progress until it was barely a speck, then nothing at all.

Yeah, he'd also effed things up pretty bad with Ares. That much was clear, though he didn't know why the idea of Ares getting in trouble with Cad Bane bothered him so. The Twi'lek was just another passing figure in his life, as so many others had been. What did it matter if Ares ignored a debt to a  _chakaar_ like Bane in favor of helping Kali, whom he hardly knew? What did it matter if Trax had insulted him by bringing up unpleasant memories of his slave past?

 _That_ lovely little tidbit of memory made Traxis wince;  _fek,_ he'd put his foot in his mouth on Corrie, hadn't he? No wonder Ares had reacted so strongly to his "offer."

 _Shab_. Well, at least he'd tried to make it right. Maybe he was learning something, after all. Traxis continued up the stairs, albeit with a heavy heart.

Early it may have been, but the palace buzzed with activity. Servants rushed around, guards patrolled, and a conglomeration of Arunai – from all castes, as far as he could tell – lined up in an atrium reserved for those waiting to speak to the queen. The palace workers didn't spare Trax more than a passing glance, but he caught quite a few stares from the locals. Last time he was here, being a clone was akin to being a leper, but things seemed to have changed, at least a little. Most stares were curious, though he caught plenty of disdainful looks from those in the finest silks, while many of the Arunai dressed in tattered clothes – marking them as untouchables, the lowest caste – cast smiles his way.

It didn't matter to Traxis, who was out of his depth when it came to all interactions with civvies. He should have just put on his bucket.

After a few minutes navigating the palace hallways, he reached the rooms that had been assigned to him and the others. There were two main suites: a larger suite for the clones, which also contained the makeshift medbay, and the suite that held the Jedi's rooms.

The bacta tank bubbled quietly in the center of what had probably been a sitting room before it'd been converted. There was an area sectioned off by a large privacy screen, behind which Traxis could hear hushed murmurs, but he didn't try to listen to the words. A few Arunai techs in their emerald-green coats nodded to him, but said nothing as he approached Mi.

Milo floated in the pale blue liquid. A webbing of bandages covered his shoulder wound, enough to allow bacta to coat the site while also holding skin and muscle together so it could knit. Mi's face, what he could see past the breathing mask, was relaxed. Aside from the bacta and bandages, the kid could have been asleep.

From what Traxis could tell, the tank's readings were stable, but beyond that he was in uncharted territory. He had to trust Weave, Tallis and all the rest of them to take care of his  _vod;_ it was a similar sort of trust he had to place in Kali, when it came to finding Stonewall – wherever he was.

Traxis placed a hand against the glass and regarded Mi, though he didn't speak. What was the point in speaking to a man who could not hear him? Later, he resolved to be whatever his brother needed, but for now, he had to wait.

And be fekking patient.  _Fan-kriffing-tastic._

With a sigh, Traxis proceeded to the other end of the sitting room, which led to the living quarters. He'd asked Weave which room was Kali's, but when he activated the door-chime, she did not answer. After another chime and a few knocks, he tentatively stepped inside the unlocked door, but the only things in the room were a bed, dresser, and the cases of instruments that Shadow Squad had brought from Corrie. Her bed was rumpled, the sheets and pillows askew. Had she gotten enough sleep last night, or had memories plagued her here, too?

"There you are."

Traxis glanced over his shoulder at Crest, whose eyes were alight with excitement. "What?" he asked.

The bald clone indicated the makeshift medbay behind him. "Kali's looking for you. She wants all of us to see it."

"See  _what_?"

But Crest just grinned and waved him along. Traxis tucked the lightsabers beneath one of the pillows and followed his brother out of the room.

As it turned out, Kali, Weave and Tallis were behind the screened-off area. The dark-haired Jedi lay upon a table, her shirt pulled up to reveal her flat stomach while an Arunai doctor ran some sort of scanner over her skin. All of them seemed captivated by a small monitor set to the side, so Traxis studied it, too. All he could see was a collection of blobs, though there was a faint, pulsing motion in one area that reminded him of something...

"Everything looks fine," the doctor was saying. "It's still very early on, but you can already see the heartbeat."

Heartbeat? Traxis stepped closer to the monitor, standing near Kali's shoulder. "Is that...?"

"Yes," she murmured.

At first Traxis was numb with shock, though that was silly. He'd known she was pregnant; there was no reason for him to be dumbstruck. No reason at all.

"Yours," he managed, "and Stonewall's."

Kali reached for his hand and squeezed once. "Yes, Trax."

"The kid looks strong already, doesn't he?" Crest said, shoulders straight, voice filled with pride. "Or she, I guess."

The Arunai doctor, a young woman, smiled at the Jedi. "Children are a blessing either way, but do you or your partner have a preference?"

Shab _. Really, lady?_ Trax had no clue how much the doctor knew of Kali's situation, but she seemed to realize her misstep when all the clones winced and Kalinda didn't answer for a moment.

Instead, she stared at the screen. "No preference," she said at last. "I just hope the little one is healthy."

Crest cleared his throat. "When will we be able to know the  _adi'ka's_ sex?"

"Not for a while, I should think," Weave replied.

The doctor nodded. "You're only about six weeks along. The baby's gender probably won't be detectable until about twelve to fourteen weeks. I imagine you'll be anxious to know by then."

Kali's reply was quiet. "I don't want to know. Not until..."

She trailed off and her grip on Trax's hand tightened. He was at a loss of what to say, but luckily his medic- _vod_  jumped in.

"That's a nice, steady heartbeat, and it bodes well for the child's future." Weave's arms were crossed before his chest but his eyes were fixed on the screen in that intense way of his, and Trax figured the medic was vowing to learn everything he could about pregnancies – assuming he'd not already started.

"I think the baby will be strong, too," the doctor said.

"It's a fetus," Tallis broke in, eyes narrowed as she placed her hand upon Kali's stomach. "It's not much of anything yet. But," she added after a raised brow from Kalinda, "Weave is correct about a strong heartbeat being a good indication of consistent, positive future development."

Weave smiled. "Thanks for the seal of approval."

Someone made another comment, but Traxis didn't hear. Even though the heartbeat had been pointed out, he had to agree with Tallis on one level; it wasn't much of anything at all.

Yet.

 _But we all started so small_ , he thought, throat tight.  _Everyone in this room started small. Everyone in this city, on this planet. In this galaxy._

He tried to take a breath but it was slow in coming, for he was suddenly too awe-filled and humbled to do more than stare, like a slack-jawed  _di'kut_ at the tiny new life growing within his Jedi- _vod._ Hers and Stonewall's. No matter what happened to his brother _,_ they would have this little piece of him, this spark of possibility.

Kali squeezed his hand again. This time, he squeezed back.

* * *

Honi allowed the clones a few more minutes to gawk at the monitor before she shooed them out. "We need to conduct a  _private_ exam," she replied to the inevitable grumbling. "Females only."

"I'll find you guys later," Kalinda said. "Why don't you make sure Misfit Squad is doing alright?"

As the clones filed out, Honi glanced at her former teacher. "Misfit Squad?"

Kalinda gave a sheepish smile and began to pull off her leggings. "The name stuck."

"Evidently." Honi turned her attention to the physician that Upala had sent. Once the clones had left, the Arunai woman had closed the privacy screen completely; now, she withdrew a set of sterile tools from a drawer of her medical cart. Well, at least Honi  _assumed_ the tools were sterile. Force knew what sort of operation Upala was running, though if she was the queen's lead physician, Honi dearly hoped she – and her people – were competent.

Before she could say a  _word,_ however, she felt her former teacher's presence in her thoughts.  _Be nice._

Heat crept to Honi's cheeks but she ensured her own reply was calm.  _I wasn't going to–_

 _Be. Nice. Remember your promise._ Kalinda's words were accompanied by one of those firm, mental reprimands that she'd often doled out when her Padawan had behaved rudely, which, as Honi recalled, had been quite often. Though in her defense, she acted purely out of concern for her friend.

So she plastered a smile on her face. "Excuse me...Tejaal, was it?"

The Arunai returned the smile. " _Doctor_  Tejaal, yes, Master Jedi."

Honi nodded. "Do you require my assistance?"

It was an approximation of the question she  _really_ wanted to ask, but she'd promised Kalinda that she would not interfere with the work of the Arunai physicians – as long as they didn't do anything foolish. Or she simply couldn't hold her tongue. Whichever came first.

Heedless of any of Honi's internal debate, Tejaal shook her head. Like most other Arunai, her white hair was pinned to her head in an elaborate set of braids, contrasting with her russet skin and deep, blue eyes. Her voice was smooth and comforting as she helped Kalinda place her feet in the stirrups.

Honi stood by Kalinda's head while the Arunai doctor examined her former teacher. In the privacy of her own thoughts, she felt somewhat out of her depth here. Injuries like Milo's were manageable. Even the clones they'd brought from Kamino, many of whom looked to be in less-than-ideal condition, were within her ability to help, at least according to Zara, who had spent more time with them. Honi had not found opportunity to do more than briefly look the men over, but thought, with a little time and effort, she could do some good among the cloned soldiers.

But pregnancy had never been a part of her training. Save a few harried field operations where she'd had to stabilize a woman in labor, Honi had not had much experience with pregnant women, and of course she'd never encountered a pregnant Force-user. Kalinda would be the first, in many ways.

Beside her, Kalinda sucked in her breath. "Kriff."

"I'm sorry," Tejaal said. "I tried to warm it up first."

Alarmed, Honi glanced down at her fellow Jedi. "Are you in pain?"

"No, I'm fine." Kalinda winced. "Just...cold in a place that should never be cold."

Honi glared at the Arunai doctor. "Was it too much trouble to run the speculum under warm water, or did you simply breathe on it?"

Tejaal ignored her and pressed on Kalinda's abdomen. "Any pain?"

"No."

"Now?"

"Still okay."

Tejaal nodded, and within a few minutes, Kalinda's legs had been lowered and the Arunai doctor was gathering her tools. "Everything looks wonderful," she said to the Jedi before she slipped out of the screened area. "Mother and baby are in perfect health, but of course we'll continue to monitor you both."

Kalinda thanked her and began to dress. As she did, she shot Honi a wry look. "I said 'be nice!'"

"I was perfectly civil."

The other Jedi snorted. "Yes, well, your brand of 'civil' is a normal person's barely-concealed disdain."

"Forgive me for being concerned with your and your child's well-being."

Anxious to be useful in some way, Honi glanced around, then called her datapad to her hand. She'd stowed all of Kalinda's medical information here and synced it to the Arunai system, so she would have everything at her fingertips. While her former Master tugged on her leggings, Honi called up the image of the fetus once more, just to make sure all was well. She'd sensed only a tiny spark of  _something_ with the Force, which was...strange, though she did not know what else she'd expected.

Fully-clothed once more, Kalinda stood beside her and turned the datapad so she could see, too. "So tiny," she murmured, eyes fixed on the nebulous image. "I can hardly believe what that little spark will grow into. I just wish–"

She bit off the words and turned away, to step out of the screened-off area. Honi followed, and they went to the bacta tank that housed Milo. While Honi examined the tank's oxygen levels, Kalinda regarded her soldier, placing one hand on the glass.

"Honi?"

The oxygen levels were fine, but Honi was concerned that Milo was not receiving adequate nutrients through the feeding-tube. His potassium levels, in particular, were lower than they should have been, so she made the necessary adjustments. "Mmm?"

"How bad of an idea would it be to have surgery right now?"

This was unexpected. Honi glanced at her friend, frowning. "For you?" Kalinda nodded and Honi exhaled. "What sort of surgery?"

"For my knee." Kalinda looked at the tank again. "I think it's time I got a prosthetic joint."

Curiouser and curiouser. Tank adjusted, Honi gave the other Jedi her full attention. "It's a little risky, as are all surgeries." She spoke slowly to better allow her thoughts to race ahead. "Of course, the bulk of that risk comes from the drugs needed to sedate the patient, but with  _morichro_ , the risk would be minimal."

Rather than reply right away, Kalinda merely looked back at the tank. "So...do you think it's a good idea?"

"As I said,  _all_ surgery is risky. The risk is doubled when the patient is a pregnant woman. However," she took a deep breath, "our medical technology is such that surgery is not as risky as it was even a few decades ago. We also have the Force."

"And I have you."

Honi flushed but nodded. "I will make every effort to ensure your and your child's safety, if you decide to go through with the procedure." She hesitated, then added, "What brought this on? You've never expressed a desire to fix your knee before."

Kalinda was quiet a moment, but her Force-presence roiled like a storm-tossed ocean. She allowed Honi brief access to her emotions before gently shuttering them away. "It's time," she said at last, shaking her head once. "It's past time. I need to move on. I need to be whole."

It was not an answer that Honi entirely understood, but even she knew when to let well enough alone. "Sooner would be best," she said, looking back at the tank's readings to check Milo's potassium levels again. "Especially for the recovery period, which will take several months. If you wait until you are much farther along, the strain upon your body would be much greater, and add to the risk. Assuming, that is, Upala has the necessary facilities to even  _perform_  the procedure."

Kalinda cast her eyes to the ceiling, but her voice held affection. "Let me ask her. You just focus on Milo and the other clones, for now. And," she added, slanting a knowing look in Honi's direction, "your Padawan."

At Honi's request, Zara had kept her distance since their arrival, and Honi, admittedly, liked being without the burden of the fledgling Jedi. However, she had neglected too much of her duty already to allow this lapse; she still had no idea what awaited her back on Coruscant. Or what awaited Zara, for that matter.

"I'll see to my Padawan," she said, lifting her chin. "And I'd like to examine the clones we retrieved from Kamino. What are you going to do?"

"For now?" Kalinda gave a helpless chuckle and shook her head. "I hardly know where to begin."

* * *

_Later..._

Hands folded in her lap, Kali gave Ward and Halligan her warmest smile, hoping to set the clones at ease. They were seated at a stone table in one of the palace gardens, drinking from a pitcher of iced cassis-flower tea and generally enjoying being outside without being subject to the late-spring heat. At least,  _she_ was enjoying it. All around them, birds chirruped and jasmine bloomed; the air was summer-soft and sweetly scented. It was all Kali could do to not kick off her boots and wriggle her toes in the grass.

By contrast, Ward and Halligan looked to be about as uncomfortable as if their chest-plates were three sizes too small. Though they were kitted up, neither man wore his helmet. They sat opposite her, backs straight, eyes fixed upon the Jedi like they were afraid to look anywhere else. Droplets of sweat beaded on Halligan's forehead and Ward held unnaturally still.

Kali took a sip of the tea, savoring the cool trickle down her throat. "It's delicious," she said to them after a few too-long moments of silence. "You should try some."

Each clone reached for his glass and took a swallow in unison, though Ward's eyes widened with pleasure once the tea hit his tongue. After a brief hesitation, Halligan drank deeply. When they set the glasses down, Kali smiled at them.

"It's good, isn't it?"

They exchanged glances, but Halligan spoke. "It is, General. Thank you."

He was bald, like Crest, albeit with a small scar on his chin. His armor was unblemished and devoid of everything but some gray piping at his arms, chest and legs. Ward's armor was identical, though he wore his hair in a single strip down the middle of his head, and his face was not scarred.

Both of them radiated uncertainty in the Force, and Kali dearly wished she could set them more at ease. Their entire world had been turned upside-down in a matter of days. No doubt they were in uncharted territory, seated in a lush garden and sharing tea with a Jedi Knight.

So she pitched her voice to be as gentle as possible. "So much has happened since we met. How are you settling in?"

"Fine, General," Halligan said, nodding once.

Ward nodded as well, but was otherwise silent.

 _Okay..._ Kali tried again. "Do you have any questions for me?"

They exchanged looks again, and to her surprise, Ward spoke this time. "Are we being reassigned to your command, General Halcyon?"

Her mouth opened but no sound came out. Of course, they would have no idea that she wasn't a "proper" Jedi any longer, and she felt a little bad to have to break the news. "My 'command,' as you put it, isn't quite as you'd expect," she managed at last. "I was not acting on the Council's orders when we brought all of you from Timira City."

Ward frowned. "Does that mean we abandoned our post? Are we AWOL?"

"No," Halligan cut in, shaking his head. "She's still a Jedi. She's still responsible for us."

Suddenly the day held no warmth. His words were akin to a bucket of ice water pouring over her head, banishing all pleasure from this moment and tossing her back into reality. All of the Sector Nine clones  _were_  her responsibility now, and she didn't have a vaping clue what was going to become of them. As much as she wanted to provide reassurance that they would not be disciplined, she could not, especially since she still had no idea how much the Council knew of Creon's activities. Or, for that matter, how much they knew of what had happened to Stonewall.

Thoughts of her husband reminded her of the reason she'd brought Ward and Halligan out here, so she tried to get the conversation back on track. "You have my promise that I will do everything in my power to ensure that you are treated fairly. And in the meantime, you are under Queen Hari's protection."

Neither looked entirely convinced, but they only nodded. Kali took a breath to gather her calm and continued. "The reason I wanted to speak to you both, privately, concerns another matter: a clone named Stonewall. Do you remember him?"

"The officer who was brought in with Milo," Halligan said, nodding. "Of course we remember him, sir."

"Hard to forget something like that," Ward added darkly.

"What do you mean?" Kali asked.

Ward glanced around, then leaned forward a fraction, keeping his eyes on her. "We've been at Sector Nine for a long time, General, and seen our share of weirdness. Hal can attest to that. But I've never seen anything like Stonewall. No wonder the long-necks put a collar on him." He shuddered. "The fellow looked normal enough, but there was something  _wrong_ with him. Something defective."

Kali's heart had quickened with each word, until it raced. "Defective?"

"Force or not," Halligan added, "no clone should be able to do what he did, sir."

"Please explain."

Halligan's brows knitted, giving the impression he was gathering his thoughts. "He stabbed Milo," he said after a beat. "Right in the chest. Then he took off to murder all the other long-necks. I don't blame him for that, but I  _thought_ he liked Milo. They kept calling each other 'vohd.' Said it meant 'brother.'"

That Stonewall had struck Milo was a truth no one had given voice; in Kali's eyes, he was not in his right mind, and therefore absolved of any true wrongdoing. But it was still painful to hear the situation spelled out so bluntly.

"He was reconditioned," she said at last. "The man I knew would never have done such a thing."

Ward shrugged and reached for his glass, though he did not immediately drink. "General, even if a clone gets reconditioned, bits of him still remain. There's only so much the long-necks can erase."

"Now, that's not entirely fair." Halligan tapped his index finger on the table, where the stone was dappled by shifting shadows from surrounding trees. "You saw the wound. He could have killed Milo. He should have, because he was ordered to. But he didn't. And he sure as heck didn't miss from that close."

"He was  _barvy_ ," Ward said, shrugging again. "I mean, they're always disoriented after they wake up from the procedure, but this 'Stonewall' was more than just out of sorts. There was a...purpose to the way he moved. There was something really wrong with him."

"If he'd wanted to kill Milo, he could have," Halligan replied. "He killed the long-necks readily enough. Why leave Milo alive? Why leave any of us alive, for that matter?"

"You saw his eyes," Ward said sharply. "There was nothing there, Hal.  _Nothing_. I doubt he had any idea what he was doing in that training-room, or if he did, he didn't care."

Halligan exhaled. "He was pretty agitated, wasn't he?"

Kali, who had followed their conversation like a wick-ball match, tried to sound calmer than she felt. "And you have no idea where he might have gone?"

"No, General," Halligan replied. "He didn't say."

"And, frankly, we were a little too preoccupied to worry much about him," Ward added. He paused, then regarded her curiously. "Sir, I have to ask...what does it matter? Clones are reconditioned all the time. Seems like you have a fairly decent squad left; why not promote one of them to the rank of captain?"

"Stonewall  _cannot_  be replaced," she heard herself say, much too harshly than was warranted. Indeed, both clones blanched and straightened, falling into a more formal posture at the Jedi's unspoken reprimand. For a moment the only sound was a breeze rifling through a nearby mycosia bush.

 _Kriff_ , she thought, taking another breath.  _Calm yourself. It's not their fault._ "Thank you for the information," she said after she'd schooled her voice to calm. "I think that's all I need for now. Is there anything else you wish to ask me?"

"What's going to happen to us?" Ward asked. "Hal and I aren't like the others.  _We_  can still be of use. I'd love to trade in that electrostaff for a real deece."

"Do you...wish to fight?" she asked.

They exchanged looks, but Halligan answered. "We've only ever been on Kamino, sir. Though we have the proper training, we both lack field experience." His Force-presence flickered with wistfulness. "I doubt we'd be much of an asset to a fighting unit."

"Maybe prison duty, on Corrie," Ward broke in, sitting upright, knee bouncing. "Can you imagine us on Triple Zero?"

Halligan's eyes lit up. "Now  _there's_ an idea."

Both looked hopefully at Kali, who was at something of a loss. Somehow, she'd assumed that none of the clones would want to rejoin the army, but clearly, she was wrong. Though she loved Stonewall and considered his brothers family, she realized how little she understood clones in general; how different they each were. It was a rather humbling realization.

"If that's what you want, I'll do my best to arrange it," she said at last. She thought of the Council, and of all the questions she had for them. "Very likely I'll be making a trip to Coruscant in the near future. I'll try to have your new positions sorted out by then."

Ward nodded, and Halligan looked rather pleased. "Thank you, sir," he said, ducking his bald head. "For what it's worth," he added almost shyly, "I wouldn't mind serving under your command, if you would have us. Milo spoke highly of you."

"Say, he was right, wasn't he?" Ward added thoughtfully, looking at his brother. "She came for him. That means something."

"She left with all of us," Halligan replied. "That means more."

* * *

_Later..._

It was full dark by the time Kali returned to her room. After her conversation with Ward and Halligan, she'd gone to check on the other clones, who were in similar states of uncertainty about their futures. She didn't blame them. At least they were healthy; Honi had examined each of the dozen clones they'd brought, and found them all in relatively good condition – minus a few, in Zero's words, "defects."

Of Zara, she'd seen little, but had heard Honi remark that the Padawan was holed up in a room adjacent to the makeshift medbay, working with the young clone, Levy, on studying the nanogene droids. Kali resolved to look into that more, when she had the chance, or at least ask Weave to do so.

Crest and Traxis were with Misfit Squad as well, keeping them occupied with teaching them sabacc, dejarik, and probably a host of other, non-regulation games, all to a backdrop of the most recent bolo-ball match upon the room's vidscreen. The rooms that housed the clones held intermittent conversation and sparse laughter, though Kali hoped more would follow. Eventually.

For now, though, she was alone, and glad of it. She shut her door and leaned against it a moment, eyes closed, inhaling the lingering scents of sandalwood and jasmine that were so prevalent here. She'd eaten dinner already and shared a brief comm-call with Sita, who was too busy to speak to her in person today but promised to do so tomorrow or the next day. She  _should_  take a shower, then fall into bed and try to rest.

But tired as she was, she knew sleep would not come easily.

Her eyes opened and fell upon her bed, where something gleamed beneath her pillow. When she withdrew both of her lightsabers, at first she thought she was hallucinating. She  _had_ given these to Ares, hadn't she? What the kriff were they doing back here?

Traxis probably knew. He'd not said anything about the sabers, only that Ares had gone, and had proceeded to be more sullen than usual. She remembered how he'd said he'd "convinced" Ares to take the job in the first place... To her knowledge, he had no way to offer payment for services rendered.

Well, whatever had happened between Trax and Ares, it was probably over now. It wasn't Kali's place to stick her nose in his business, though she would ask about the sabers' return.

And, despite how quickly she'd gotten rid of the weapons, it would be comforting to have them at her side once more. She lingered over the familiar hilts before tucking them in the drawer that held her clothes.

As she did, she glanced at the instrument cases that had been brought to her room. Though they were all "officially" hers, she'd encouraged the men of Shadow Squad to learn how to play them, with varying degrees of success. Trax and Crest were passable on their instruments, the Mandalorian  _bes'bev_ flute and a Nautolan harmonica, respectively, but it'd been Weave and Milo who'd really taken a shine to the dulcimer and the  _tabla_ drums.

And of course, Stonewall had loved to play the ion-steel gitar. That in mind, Kali hefted the battered case, older than she was, and took a seat on the bed. Within, the polished duochrome of the gitar gleamed in the muted light of her room and the strings shivered beneath her fingers. It'd been a long time since she'd played – once she'd given the instrument to Stone, she'd mainly stuck to her viol – but after a few minutes of strumming chords, true music began to return.

The ion-steel gitar's voice resonated in the quiet space around her. There was a sultry twang to it, which some said lacked the refined edge of a more traditional wood frame gitar, but Kali had always loved the sound.

Stonewall had loved it, too.

 _No_ , she told herself firmly _. Don't think of him in the past tense._ Stonewall was alive. Even if hardly any hope remained, there was  _some_. He was lost, but she would find him, no matter what.

She adjusted the tuning knobs at the instrument's neck, but it was out of habit more than anything else. The gitar was finely made and each note always rang true. Perhaps such a thing happened after being in a Jedi's proximity for so many years. This gitar had belonged to her father; it was the one possession he'd ever allowed himself, and no one had ever questioned it after they heard him play.

Kali would never play as well as Jonas. Stonewall had come close. He'd had a natural affinity for music, more so than the other clones, though at first he'd been reluctant to learn...

* * *

_Approximately two years ago..._

The notes rang out discordantly, and Kali fought back a wince. "That's sharp."

Stonewall made a noise of frustration and reached for the tuning knobs again. "You just said it was flat."

"Well, now it's sharp." She placed a hand on his armored shoulder, drawing his eyes to hers. The campfire's glow made them shine almost gold. "Do you want to call it a night?"

He tensed at her touch, which was still unfamiliar but not, she knew, unwelcome. Just new. A beat later he leaned into her hand even as he shook his head and looked back at the gitar with determination. "Maybe I'll try one more time."

Kali smiled and dropped her hand to her lap to wait. The night was thick beyond the glowing ring of the fire, and the forest buzzed with all manner of nocturnal creatures. Neither Jedi nor clone captain were concerned with the local fauna on this world. Perimeter alarms had been set up to alert the as-yet unnamed squad of any visitors, and she could sense the intentions of any sentients in the immediate area.

They were not scheduled to meet their contact until the morning, so Kali had decided that now was as good a time as any to continue Stonewall's musical education. The others had gone to their tents some hours ago; Kali used the Force periodically to ensure they were not disturbed by the music – or noise, she supposed – but the clones could apparently sleep through anything if they knew a Jedi was looking out for them. That, or they were too polite to complain about the din.

Gitar tuned, her captain bent his hands over the strings, carefully placing each finger at the correct fret in order to elicit the note of his choosing. At last he shot her a wry look that made her heart leap into a familiar, stuttering dance. "Wish me luck."

In response, she planted a quick kiss on his cheek, savoring the faint scratch of stubble.

Pleasure and faint embarrassment wove through his Force-presence, though the feelings faded as he turned his considerable focus to the instrument in his lap. He took a deep breath and skimmed his nails across the strings once.

The resulting note was sweet and clear and perfect. When she expressed this fact, he beamed brighter than the two moons tucked into the sky.

"Try it again," she said, resting her chin on her hand.

"I'm not sure I can repeat that. I think it was mostly dumb luck."

"You've got this, Stone. Trust me." She winked at him. "I'm a Jedi."

"Well, if a Jedi says so..." His cheeks colored, but he smiled at her once before returning his attention to the gitar. Within moments, he'd successfully recreated the first note, and, to her delight, managed to switch between it and the other one he knew. There were only two now, but she had hopes that he'd be playing three by tomorrow. Baby steps.

After a few minutes he pulled his hands back and flexed them, frowning. "Are they supposed to ache?"

"Until you build up your muscles, yes."

"I thought that's what a decade of combat training was for."

She took his left hand in both of hers and began to rub the tendons to assuage any pain. "Playing an instrument uses different muscles than I imagine you're used to. But if you practice every day, eventually it won't hurt any more."

He'd sucked in his breath at her touch, but relaxed into it after a moment. Touches like this, romantic in nature, were still new to him, though he seemed to like them a great deal.

This was confirmed by the gleam in his eyes as he watched her. "Every day?"

His hands were large compared to hers, and calloused despite the gloves he wore almost all the time. He had a hangnail on his index finger and a shiny, pink burn scar on his wrist. Kali bent her head to place a soft kiss against the scar, then met his eyes.

"Every day," she said quietly. "If you want. If you like this."

Stonewall reached his other hand up to her face and skimmed it along her jaw with the same intent he'd shown the gitar. "I do. Very much."

The baritone of his voice made her shiver despite the warmth of the fire. What was a little campfire compared to the blaze in her heart when he looked at her so?

Kali smiled at him. "So do I."

* * *

A/N: Because sometimes you just need a little fluff.

 _Ni ceta_  = an intense, almost groveling version of "I'm sorry." Thanks to  **AtinBralor**  for the Mando'a translation!


	33. Chapter Thirty-Two

Lyrics: ["The Longer I Run," by Peter Bradley Adams, from  _Leavetaking._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WLTbFaoZuVQ&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp&index=33)

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Two**

_If I wander 'till I die,_  
May I know whose hand I'm in.  
And if my home I'll never find,  
Then let me live again.

_Elsewhere..._

Shadow set his empty glass on the bar, beside the others. His head had started to swim a little too much. Closing his eyes, he pushed through the din of the cantina's patrons and reached within, to the Force. A deep breath, and another; he coaxed the molecules of alcohol to dissolve within his bloodstream. Gradually, the swimming in his brain lessened.

How he'd learned this skill...well, that was one of the many unknowns that had taken control of his life. In the end, all that mattered was when he opened his eyes, he was sober once more.

His gaze fell upon the bartender: a slender Human woman with light brown hair that she wore pulled back like a gualara's tail. At his look, she nodded and reached for another small glass and the familiar bottle of Pantoran brandy that had just enough bite. She poured two thumbfuls and slid the tumbler his way.

As she did, her dark eyes swept over the half-dozen glasses he'd accumulated so far. "Going for a record?"

"It's been one of those days." He tipped the brandy down his throat. It burned. His eyes stung, but he knew what to expect by now, and swallowed it without flinching. It had not been so the first time...

Shadow checked his chrono. Six hours ago. Which brought the time since he'd last received orders to sixty-six hours. Sixty-six hours since he'd checked in with Lord Tyranus and had been told, simply, "stand by."

Strictly speaking, that meant he was not supposed to leave his base, but Shadow had no base. There was no GAR presence on the Outer Rim world of Eriadu, though it was a part of the Republic. The dirtball had significant strategic importance due to its proximity to multiple hyperspace routes, but from what he could see, the planet was nothing more than a conglomeration of congested cities. "The Coruscant of the Outer Rim," he'd heard folks call this place. He snorted. A man didn't need to keep his bucket on just to fardling  _breathe_ on Corrie, at least in the upper levels. So he'd heard, anyway. He wasn't sure if he'd ever been that far in the Core.

In fact, he was starting to wish he'd checked in from a different location. Phelar was not Eriadu's capital city, but it was still kriffing crowded; full to bursting with sentients, mostly Human. The few non or Near-Humans that Shadow had seen on this world seemed to be relegated to maintenance and sanitation duties.

A chorus of shouts broke out from one corner of the bar. Shadow glanced over his shoulder, peering through the haze of cigarra smoke at the vidscreen, beneath which a group of Human males watched a bolo-ball match. If he squinted, he could make out the purple jerseys of one team, Eltair, and for a few minutes his interest was piqued. He turned fully, but did not move closer. When the ads came on, he sighed and looked back at the bartender, who stood a little closer than before, making notations on a datapad as she surveyed an array of liquor bottles.

At his sigh, she lifted her dark eyes to him. "Are you losing?"

"What?"

She indicated the vidscreen. "The bolo-ball finals. Is your team losing?"

Shadow toyed with the base of his most recent empty glass. "I don't have a team."

"You're the only one. Everyone else around here is completely thermal about bolo-ball."

"Everyone?" He raised an eyebrow and she smiled.

"I stand corrected. There are two of us." She set down her 'pad and reached for his collection of glasses. "Here, let me–"

"Don't. I want to keep track." Shadow stilled her with a hand on hers. Her skin was soft and warm and her pulse leaped at his touch.

But her voice was calm. "Alright." She bent beneath the bar and appeared a moment later with two clean glasses. "This one's on the house," she added as she poured them each a measure of Pantoran brandy. "We're running a special for all non-bolo-ball fans."

Shadow accepted the glass and obligingly clinked it against hers. As he drank, he studied her both through the Force and with his other senses. Though she stood so close, her Force presence was faint, like a distant star, which he found curious. All of her was like that; almost  _right,_ but not quite. But he had no clue what – or whom – he was comparing her to, or if he was comparing her to anyone at all. The shape of her face was too round and her eyes were too large. Like all Eriaduans, she had a polished accent, but the pitch was too sharp, the cadence of it too quick. When another patron at the bar's other end called her over, he noted that her walk was too smooth.

But despite these things, she was pretty enough. His head was starting to go fuzzy again; maybe he'd been stagnant too long. Nor did he remember the last time he'd touched someone without intending to do harm.

When she returned, she reached for her 'pad again but did not seem as interested in her inventory. "I'm sorry," she said to him. "But I've been wracking my brain, trying to figure out how I know you. You look so familiar."

If she knew he was a clone and was lying or teasing, there was no indication of it, either in her voice or her emotions. Shadow didn't think she knew. The Force allowed him to peer within her spirit, and he found no guile within.

"I have that sort of face," he replied, giving her a small smile.

She beamed back and stuck out her hand. "I'm Jes."

 _Jes._ Like everything else about her, the name struck him as being not-quite-right. But he nodded anyway. "Nice to meet you, Jes."

When he did not offer his name, she raised a brow. "Okay, this is the part where you say, 'I'm so-and-so.'"

He hesitated. "Shadow" was not a normal civilian name. Some clones had passable civvy names, ones they'd pulled from the HoloNet or Force-knew-where, but he was not one of them. However, one name in particular came to mind. "I'm Milo."

"Milo." Jes said the name like she'd tasted it and found it sweet. She smiled again and picked up her datapad, though he could tell her attention was still firmly fixed on him. "Are you here for business or pleasure, Milo?"

"Business." It was true enough.

"That's a shame."

"How so?"

Dark eyes flickered over his shoulders and arms; he wore a set of civvy clothes he'd found on the merc's ship, though the comlink was tucked safely in his pocket and he'd concealed both blasters beneath his coat. Armor was always nicer to wear, but civvies tended to get fidgety when they couldn't look directly into his eyes. Here and now, blending in was paramount.

After taking a long, deliberate look at his body, Jes met his gaze. "I was hoping you'd say 'pleasure.'"

Shadow prodded her emotions with the Force again, and found a ripple of desire, directed at him. It was simple and sweet. He also sensed a measure of uncertainty, which made him think she did not normally flirt like this with her customers. Why had she chosen him? Perhaps there was something about him that almost resonated with her, too.

Beneath that desire, though, was hope, and it gave him pause.

"Another drink?" he asked, to buy himself some time.

She poured the brandy and he considered the lines of her arms, the curve of her cheeks. Despite everything else, she  _was_ pretty. Maybe he was just being a kriffing moron. A lot worse things could happen to him than be wanted by a pretty, dark-eyed woman who reminded him of...someone.

He tipped the drink down his throat and savored the bite of it, and the burn. He savored her eyes on him and thought about how it would feel to touch another in kindness, or at least the seeking of shared pleasure. Though he could not remember if he'd done anything like this before, his blood quickened when her gaze on him turned deliberate once more.

"Business is slow at the moment," he said at last as he set the glass down. "Maybe 'pleasure' can be arranged. What do you think, Jes?"

Dark eyes met his and she smiled again. "I'd like that very much, Milo."

* * *

He stayed until the bar closed, well into the earliest hours of the morning. He'd stopped mitigating his alcohol intake with the Force some time ago, so his steps on the way out of the 'fresher were muddled. But not too much. Every sense was still extended; he was still a soldier fighting a war, even if he wasn't fighting anything at this particular moment.

When he emerged, the bar was dark. Jes stood by the door, tapping on the panel that controlled the exterior lights and the alarm system. At his approach, she turned and regarded him. "Ready?"

"Where to?" Standing beside her, he realized that her height, too, was wrong. She was much too tall. He tried not to let it bother him and rested his hands on her hips.

Jes leaned into his chest and tilted her face up. The Force shivered with her desire, pushing away most of the threads of common sense, and Shadow wondered at her trust in him. He could be anyone. He could be a monster.

"My place isn't far." She wrapped her arms around his neck. "We can make it there in five. Unless you can't wait. I'm not sure I can, actually."

She smelled like secondhand cigarras and whatever perfume she'd put on before her shift started. Wrong, but he could let that go. He had done a pretty fair job of it so far. Jes was pliant, soft, warm. All woman.

The brandy raced through his veins, unchecked, and he pulled her closer. "I'm not sure of anything right now."

"You're funny." She leaned closer; her next words were whispered against his lips. "And kriffing gorgeous. I can't help but wonder if you're just a figment of my imagination."

His thoughts swam circles as hormones took the helm of his actions, and he sought her mouth with his. Jes gave a soft whimper of pleasure and parted her lips to allow him entrance.

The taste of her...

More than anything else, it was this wrongness that shook him out of his haze and sobered him instantly. There was a sweetness to her taste, similar to the brandy, but beneath that was  _her,_ and it was wrong. Shadow did not understand how it was wrong, or why, only that it was and that he could not continue this way.

"Jes."

"Hmm?"

He turned his head away as her mouth slid to his jaw, nipping at the stubble he'd not shaved in a few days. Her hands worked his jacket off of his shoulders, as if she was going to take him right here.

As gently as he could, Shadow took her hands in his. "I'm sorry," he managed, meeting her dark eyes. "I can't do this."

She was breathing a little hard as she frowned up at him. Her Force-presence rippled with eddies of agitation. "Why?"

He frowned as well. "It's...complicated."

"Did I do something wrong?"

"You're very nice," he said as he set her hands back at her sides. "But I just... I just can't."

To his surprise, she pulled her hands free and pressed her palm against his groin, and her face fell a little more at what she found – or didn't find. His body and mind were in agreement for once. This seemed to cement the reality in her mind, for she stepped away and crossed her arms before her stomach, eyes downcast, face flushing.

"I'm such an idiot," she muttered.

"You're not an idiot," he told her. "You didn't do anything wrong. I'm just...not quite myself right now. I thought I could..."

He trailed off. It was foolish to try and explain something he didn't even understand. Hell, he still wasn't sure if "Shadow" was even his name. What was wrong with him? How the kriff was he supposed to live this way?

Working to keep his voice free of any agitation, he said her name again. "I can walk you home," he offered. "It's pretty late."

She shook her head, turned and headed for the bar, where she gathered her purse and a hooded jacket. "No, that's alright. I meant what I said; it's not far. I walk home alone all the time."

Neither of them spoke until they'd stepped onto the platform outside, where the street lums glowed orange. Even this late, traffic was heavy and the air was thick with smoke.

As she entered the lock-code on the panel by the door, Shadow cleared his throat. "Sorry, again."

Jes met his eyes, and he allowed himself one moment to study her dark ones. Dark, yes, but their color was wrong, even in the garish light. "It's fine," she said. "Take care."

"You too."

She stepped away from him without another word and headed down the street, purse bumping her hip as she walked. Shadow remained where he stood, wrapped himself within the Force so that he would not be seen and watched her silently, ensuring that none of the other folks on the street caused her any trouble. She'd been right about her home; within a few minutes she was letting herself in another building, and soon she'd vanished inside.

Shadow was alone again.

He released the Force that shielded him and looked up, squinting through the haze to try and see the stars. Other than a few of the brighter ones, he could make out nothing, certainly none he recognized.

With a sigh, he ran a hand through the fine fringe of his hair. When he'd woken up on Kamino, he'd been bald, but it was growing back. His cheeks and jaw were scruffy; perhaps he should have shaved, as being so unkempt was unbecoming of a soldier, but he didn't much care about that right now.

_What the fek am I doing?_

Shadow had carried out his previous objectives with efficiency. What was the hold-up with his next set? Orders were a comfort. Orders brought relief from the chaos of the unknown that followed him so closely. Without a direction, a purpose, he was lost. All he had were crumbs of memories and that fardling stone wall he saw when he meditated, or when he dreamed. None of it made any sense.

Helpless fury took hold of Shadow's heart and squeezed, and he clenched his jaw. To mitigate the accompanying rush of energy, he turned on his heel and hurried toward Phelar Port, where his ship and all his gear waited. He told himself he would suit up and go through some calisthenics, even run kriffing laps around the ship if he had to. Anything was better than  _waiting._

But in his heart of hearts, he knew his efforts to find a distraction would be futile, for deep in the shadows of his mind, a set of dark eyes like no other lingered beside a wall he could not scale.


	34. Chapter Thirty-Three

Lyrics: ["Wake Up and Live," by Bob Marley, from  _Survival._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3UAGe_GGVN0)

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Three**

_There's work to be done, so let's do it little by little._

_Rise from your sleepless slumber!_

_We're more than sand on the seashore,_

_We're more than numbers._

About three days after the group's arrival on Aruna, Zara peered through the microscope, adjusting the focus until the nanogene droids were clearly visible. To her untrained eye, they looked like beetles or ants; tiny, vaguely segmented bodies with six legs and two stubby antennae on their "heads."

"What are those for?" She wasn't expecting an answer, but could not prevent herself from voicing the question.

Across from her, gazed fixed on a computer console, was Levy. At her words he glanced her way. "What are what for, Commander?"

Zara pulled back fully from the microscope, blinking as her eyes adjusted to looking at things that were not magnified a zillion times. "They have little antennae, like bugs."

"It's probably how they communicate with one another, or receive their programming instructions," he replied, looking back at the screen before him. "Maybe both. I'm still trying to dig through Creon's research."

"But...bugs? Seems like a weird design choice for a Kaminoan."

Levy chuckled. "I dunno, Commander. Maybe Creon liked them."

They exchanged a smile before returning to their respective tasks. Well, Levy was the one doing all the work with regards to assessing the extent of the nanos' programming. Zara was simply trying to wrap her mind around the darn things.

The nanogene droids had been brought to one of the spare rooms allotted to the clones, and it was here that Zara and Levy had spent most of their time since the group's arrival. Several computers and datapads had been provided, as well as a big table with lots of light, along with microscopes and other equipment. Weave and Kalinda had both expressed an interest in the droids, but there was so much that needed doing, neither of them had had a chance to do more than check in. Fortunately Levy had happily taken to the task of studying the nanos. Zara sort of envied him. Her own focus was nowhere near that of her clone companion.

But it wasn't entirely her fault. There simply wasn't much for her to  _do._ Master Tallis had Milo and Kalinda's health well in hand, plus she had Weave to help, not to mention a slew of Arunai doctors – all of whom were vastly more experienced than a fourteen-year-old Padawan learner. Zara had tried to help her Master a few times, but it had been made clear to her that her presence was unnecessary, so she'd eventually opted to stay with Levy as he examined the nanodroids.

Well, she  _liked_  to think she'd chosen to be here – and in a way she had, as no one had made her leave the Temple in the first place – but it stung that her own Master wanted nothing to do with her.

Sighing, she looked back at the microscope but did not peer within. Instead, she shut her eyes and reached out to the tiny droids through the Force in an attempt to get another kind of sense of them. Unlike living creatures, droids didn't leave impressions in the Force. At least, most droids didn't. Those that had particularly complex programming, or even those that had not had a memory-wipe in some time, left faint imprints in the Force; shadows of those left by true organics, but possible to sense. Zara had heard of Jedi who were able to actually  _sense_ droids as clearly as others could sense living creatures, but she had never experienced such a thing.

Within the Force, the nanos felt...foreign. Their energies appeared in her mind's eye as echoes of swarming insects; there was no individual impression, but rather a unified intent, faint though it was.

"Whoa."

Levy glanced up again. Curiosity pooled around his Force-presence, but such emotion was constant. He was of a curious mind, and she liked that about him. "What is it, Commander?"

She nodded to the microscope. "It's weird...I can sort of sense them in the Force. Usually droids are impossible for me to sense."

"What does that mean?"

"I'm not sure." Zara rested her chin on her hands. "Maybe because there are so many of them? It feels like they all have the same," she had to search for the right word, "goal in mind," she said at last, shrugging. "Like they all want to do the same thing."

"They don't have any orders – at least from what I can tell. Creon didn't program these yet; only the ones he...used on us."

For a moment, Levy's expression twisted into one of disgust and pain; the bitterness of both was strong enough to make her  _lekku_ ache in sympathy. He said nothing else and looked back at the console, expression suddenly and resolutely blank.

Zara, however, did not return to her microscope. Instead, she regarded Levy. Since the fatigues they'd worn in Sector Nine were stained and tattered, all of the rescued clones had been given fresh clothes in the Arunai fashion: long tunics, loose pants, both in bright colors. Like the others, Levy had bathed and cut his hair military-short. On the surface, he seemed to have recovered from the traumas of his stay in Sector Nine. But there had been constant threads of worry and sorrow woven within in his Force-presence, and she thought only some of them were for Milo, who still floated in bacta in the next room.

"Levy?"

"Yes, Commander?"

Zara tried not to grimace at the title, even though it was still really, really weird. "Why were you sent to Sector Nine?"

At first he did not respond, and her  _lekku_ twitched at the unpleasant thought that she was pushing him to reveal something that was probably private. Before she could take back the words, however, he gave a single, heavy sigh.

"There was a training sim. It was just simunition, so it wouldn't do much real harm, but there were still blaster bolts, mines, that sort of thing. There were some B1 droids we had to take out, too, but only about a dozen. My squad's objective was pretty simple: make it across the hot zone within a certain amount of time. It was..."

His hands dropped from the keyboard to wrap around his stomach. "I've been in live sims before, but this one was...different. There was so  _much_ more than the other ones, and it was just..." His head ducked and he began to rock in his seat. "It was so loud, and there were all these flashes, from the simunition, and the floor shook like a bunch of tanks were coming...and then Risky got hit and started yelling, and Keo tried to help him but he got hit, too. And it was so loud... I lost control. I couldn't handle it. I didn't get hit, but I fell anyway..."

By the end, his eyes were squeezed shut and he rocked to and fro. His arms were still wrapped around his torso and streaks of wet trickled down his cheeks.

Without thinking, Zara pushed out of her chair and moved around the table. She plopped in the chair next to him and wrapped one arm around his shoulder, pressing her forehead to his and sending him soothing pulses of Force-energy. At first he tensed at the contact, then relaxed and leaned his forehead back to hers, exhaling once.

"I found out later I had a seizure or something," he said after a few moments, sniffing intermittently. "But that's all they would tell me. When I came to...I just..." He leaned closer to her and sighed again. "I couldn't speak. I knew I was still capable of it, but...the idea of speaking terrified me. I don't know why. I know it's weird."

"It's not," Zara replied. "Selective mutism is actually a common response to trauma."

He sniffed again and glanced her way. "My...problem has a name?"

She nodded.

"But my brothers..." Levy frowned and pulled away, rubbing at his arms as his gaze fell upon the computer screen before him. "None of them had that...selective mutism thing happen. Why me? Why am I different?"

"I don't know, Levy." She considered what she knew of psychology, which wasn't much, really. Master Tallis probably wouldn't know, either, as she was primarily concerned with physical ailments rather than mental ones.

Levy exhaled and scrubbed a hand over his face, and now she sensed embarrassment trailing from him, though he made no mention of it. "I guess that's why the long-necks sent me to Sector Nine. I'm not fit for combat."

"There are worse things."

But he gave her a sad smile that was far too old for his face. "Not for a clone."

What sort of response could she make to that? Zara had learned a great deal about clones in the last several days, but she did not consider herself an expert. Maybe Kalinda could talk to him; the older Jedi had obviously spent a lot more time with clones than any other Jedi around.

But Kalinda wasn't here, and Zara was. So she tried to do a bit of healing – the non-physical kind. "Maybe being a soldier isn't what you were meant to do. Maybe you have to find a new path."

Levy chuckled. The sound held only a hint of bitterness, and he indicated the console before him. "I guess I have a good start on that. I doubt they're going to let me go back to Kamino."

The idea of him returning to the storm world made her stomach churn, but she tried to keep her apprehension from finding its way to her voice. "I heard Ward and Halligan asked to go to Coruscant, to be reassigned to the Corrie Guard or something like that. I don't think Kalinda – or anyone – would stop you from doing what you wanted, Levy."

"Maybe." He looked thoughtful, idly toying with the keyboard. "What I'd really like is to find my brothers. And for Milo to be okay."

"Milo's healing really well," Zara said, pleased she could offer this bit of comfort, at least. "I check on him every day, and Upala and Master Tallis both say he's on the right track. He'll probably need physical therapy to get his arm back to full functionality, but he's going to survive."

Levy nodded, and shifted his eyes to hers once more. "D'you think...I could ever try to contact my brothers? Just to tell them I'm okay?"

"I don't see why not. I mean, you guys are all under Queen Hari's protection, so I don't think it has to be a big secret that you're here, plus I think Kalinda's going to talk to the Council about whatever Creon was doing on Kamino. But we should still ask."

"We?" He frowned, and she caught a whiff of his anxiety. "Am I allowed to ask a Jedi general that sort of thing?"

"Of course," she said. "Why wouldn't you?"

"Jedi are," he made an indeterminate motion with his hand, "above us clones. Better." He looked away from her again. "Special."

It was her turn to sigh. "We're not, Levy. We're just...normal people who can use the Force. We get scared and hurt, too. Just like you."

"Who said I was scared?" His grin was unexpected, though it faded almost immediately. "Sorry, Commander."

"Okay, stop." At his confused look, Zara shook her head hard enough to make her  _lekku_ thump against her back. "Just call me 'Zara,' please. Not 'Commander,' and definitely not 'sir.'"

Levy stared at her, disbelief and confusion flickering in his Force-presence. "Um...are you sure?"

"Force above and beyond,  _yes._ " She rolled her eyes. "It's just  _so_ weird! I've only ever been 'Zara.' Maybe 'Padawan Karell' if I'm in trouble."

"Okay...Zara." He frowned over her name, like it was difficult to say, which, for some reason, made her want to giggle.

"Thanks...Lev," she said, and couldn't suppress the giggle, now. Neither, it seemed, could he.

Weave's voice made them both turn towards the doorway. "I take it your studies are going well?"

He stood just within the room, datapad in one hand and a look on his face that was a little curious but mostly amused. Levy and Zara exchanged glances and she indicated he should speak first. "A little bit, sir," the younger clone said, turning back to the computer as Weave approached. "There's a ton of research to sift through, but I think we have enough here to figure out how to program the nanodroids."

"Program them?" Weave's brows knitted as he knelt beside Levy, scanning the screen. "Hmm. What sort of applications can they be used for, I wonder?"

"Creon used them to correct," Levy frowned as he considered something, "aberrations in the other Kaminoans' final products. Or at least he tried."

Weave glanced at the younger clone, concern on his face. "The others have mentioned similar things, but no one seems to be very knowledgeable about what, exactly, he was doing. Just that it was unpleasant."

"He didn't discuss this stuff with us, sir," Levy replied.

"Just call me 'Weave,'" the medic said easily, eyes already drawn back to the screen. He muttered his next words, as if he were only speaking to himself. "I've been so wrapped up with other matters, I haven't had time to look any of this over, but I think that should change."

"Com–" Levy bit off the word and glanced at Zara. "Zara says that she can sense them in the Force. Does that mean something?"

When Weave looked at her, Zara straightened in her seat. "Well, I can't sense the nanodroids individually _,_ but I can sense all of them, all at once. Like they're connected somehow."

"We think they can transmit signals to each other, as well as receive outside programming," Levy added. "Just like regular clankers, I guess."

Nodding, Weave studied the screen once more. "Interesting. There must be some use we can find for these fellows." He straightened and looked between the young clone and the Padawan. "Are you two hungry? There's talk about lunch, soon."

"I could eat," Levy said immediately, and Weave chuckled before glancing at Zara.

She didn't have much of an appetite today. The mention of her Master reminded her of how kriffing useless she felt, sitting around, doing  _nothing_ while Master Tallis worked with the clones from Timira City.

But she was a Jedi. What she'd told Levy was true; Jedi  _did_ experience sorrow and fear. They just weren't supposed to. And they definitely weren't supposed to let others know. So she only nodded at the clone medic. "Lunch sounds great."

Weave regarded her a moment, during which time she sensed his curiosity flare, and in her direction, though it faded soon enough into his usual calm demeanor. "I'll let the others know," he said, stepping away from her and Levy. "Good job on your research," he added when he reached the door. "I hope we can put those tinnies to good use."

* * *

 _Poor kid,_ Weave thought as he stepped into the makeshift medbay. The little Padawan seemed intelligent and capable; there was no logical reason for how Tallis didn't seem to want her around.

But Jedi matters were far, far out of his league, and he didn't know what, if anything, he should say. Or  _could_. Or to  _whom_  he could or should say it.

Weave sighed. He would never wish injury on anyone, but life was simpler when his main worries revolved around how many painkillers he could safely give his patients. Speaking of whom...

Milo's readings were normal, as ever, but hopefully he'd wake soon. He'd been in induced-stasis for three days, a necessary component of tank-based bacta healing; over the past twenty-four hours, the conergin sedative entering his bloodstream had slowly been reduced in order to return him to full consciousness as gently as possible. Once Mi started to wake, it was essential to remove him from bacta as quickly as possible, for the emergence from induced-stasis was disorienting. A glance at the tank's control panel showed Weave that the conergin drip had completely stopped by now. All that was left was for Mi to wake up.

"Talk to you soon,  _vod,_ " he said to his sleeping brother.

He continued on toward the others within the room. Upala and two of her staff were nearby, as well, speaking with Kalinda and the two other Misfit Squad clones who'd not elected to join Traxis and Crest for exercises in the palace courtyard. For his part, Weave took a seat nearby the others and activated his datapad. He'd been soaking up every bit of information on Human pregnancies he could; all-too-well did he remember Kali's trouble on the way to Kamino, and his own helplessness. It would not happen again.

"I doubt I can be of use to anyone, Master Jedi," Rime was saying to Kali, milky eyes turned toward her even as Upala held a scanner to his chest.

"Surely that's not true," Kalinda replied.

"I'm certain we could find a place for you," Upala added, nodding. The motion caused her pure-white braids to sway slightly; she wore them pulled back behind her face, bound with an intricate golden clasp. The emerald green of her coat contrasted nicely with her ruddy skin. She was perhaps several years older thank Kali, and her accent added a refined edge to each word that, had Weave been paying more attention, he would have found pleasing.

No doubt Upala was an attractive woman; capable and intelligent. But Weave's gaze kept finding its way to another corner of the room that held a gleam of copper, and he allowed himself a moment to study the woman whose fierce devotion to the practice of healing was unlike any he'd encountered before in clone, Jedi or civilian.

One of the other doctors, a young Arunai woman named Tejaal, glanced at Kali from her workstation, where the clones' blood samples were being analyzed. "Is there no sort of...program for the clones who cannot fight any longer?"

Kalinda shook her head. "Not that I'm aware of."

"Clones age at twice the rate of other Humans," Weave added with a shrug. "I don't believe those who engineered us expected us to live long enough to worry about what to do with the rest of our lives. We were created to fight and die. Nothing more."

Though he said the words as neutrally as possible, an uncomfortable quiet fell upon the non-clones. Weave glanced at Trig and Rime, neither of whom seemed to notice the others' discomfort. He met Kali's eyes and saw, to his surprise, a simmering anger within them, though it faded almost at once as she regarded the Sector Nine clones warmly.

"Perhaps that is something that can be changed. Do either of you have any interests or hobbies?"

Trig, the other fellow, pursed his lips in thought, but it was Rime who answered after giving a dark chuckle. "Not much use for hobbies in The Dregs."

His tone was respectful, as all of the new clones had been when speaking to any non-clone, but there was a wry undercurrent to his words that made Weave wonder if he was as blasé as he seemed. Rime and Trig each sat on one of several padded exam tables that had been brought to this room. Each of the new clones had been subjected to some minor tests to check their health, and it had been determined that they were all in relatively decent shape, all things considered.

Weave thought of the nanogene droids and shuddered. There was no telling what Creon had used the things on these men for, but surely it was not good. He wished he had more time to examine the droids, but his attention had been firmly fixed on Milo, Kalinda, and the clones from The Dregs. None of them were injured, but they were essentially shinies, with little to no concept of how to behave in a non-GAR environment – nor did they seem to  _desire_ such a thing. Crest and Trax had only just managed to get the rest of them outside to try and get their blood moving.

"Ward and Halligan mentioned returning to duty, perhaps in the Core," Kalinda said, undeterred. "There must be something you are interested in doing, or learning about. Were either of you trained in any particular area before you were sent to Sector Nine?"

"Before?" Rime shook his head. "There was no 'before.'"

Kalinda's eyes widened. "You were...born this way?"

"Decanted," Rime corrected, nodding. "And yeah. I've never known anything else."

Kalinda cast Weave a startled look, but he wasn't sure what, if anything, he could say that would set her at ease. A clone who was blind from the get-go was unheard of; Weave wondered if Rime was the only one of his batch who'd been allowed to live.

"Same here, Master Jedi," Trig added softly, eyes downcast. "And to be honest, I doubt I'll have much time to learn anything else."

At this, Upala, who had been looking over the scanner's results with Tejaal, glanced at Trig. "Your cells are aging at an abnormally fast rate, even compared to the others."

"A true bad-batcher," Trig agreed. "Creon said something once about using the nanoclankers to fix that, but he never got around to trying."

This caught Weave's attention, but before he could comment, another sound reached him.

"Cobble?"

The now-familiar name made him turn to see the medic they'd rescued from The Dregs seated at the other end of the makeshift medbay, upon one of the cushy chairs in this area. Honi Tallis sat beside him, one hand resting lightly upon his chest. Her pale, slender fingers were splayed over his heart, and her blue eyes were closed – a sign that she was concentrating on the Force. Weave recognized her expression well, though he was not certain what she hoped to accomplish.

Cobble must have felt the same way, for the fellow sat frozen beneath her hand, though his eyes darted from the copper-haired Jedi to Weave, who crossed the room to sit on Cobble's other side. In response, the other medic leaned his shoulder into Weave, pressing close as if to get away from Tallis.

Weave cleared his throat. "General, what are you–"

"Exploring," she broke in, frowning, though her eyes were still closed. "Be quiet."

Cobble gave Weave another worried look, but Weave only smiled faintly and patted Cobble's knee. "It's alright," he said, keeping his voice low so not to disturb the Jedi. "She's just checking you out with the Force. SOP for a Jedi Healer, though it's a little strange at first."

At this, Cobble nodded and the tension in his body eased, though he continued leaning into Weave. Several minutes later, Tallis apparently finished what she needed to, for her eyes opened slowly, blinking as if emerging from a brightly-lit room into the shadows, before her gaze fell upon the two clones seated before her.

"What's the prognosis?" Weave asked.

She lifted her hand from Cobble's chest and addressed the former Dregs clone. "How often have you been treated with electroshocks within the past three months?"

"Cobble," he said, and held up seven fingers while Weave sucked in his breath. "Cobble?" he added, tilting his head as if in inquiry.

"The damage is recent, but not extensive," Tallis replied without missing a beat. "There is no brain damage that I can see, or that the scanners have detected. However, I did sense something...else. Something foreign within your body that I could not recognize as bacteria or a pathogen. I recommend further scans so we can resolve the issue."

"Cobble," the other medic replied, nodding along with her words. He didn't seem worried, though, which struck Weave as odd, given Tallis' news.

"I spoke to Zara," Weave said, drawing Tallis' eyes to him. She frowned at the interruption, but he continued. "She said she was able to sense the nanogene droids, in a way. Could they account for the foreign presence you sensed?"

Her pale brows furrowed in thought as she regarded Cobble again. "Perhaps. Even bacteria can be detected through the Force, but I've never been able to sense droids."

"Full scans should show if the nanos were used on you," Weave said to Cobble. "I'll recommend it to Upala and her staff. If you don't mind being prodded a little more," he added wryly. "I know it gets old."

Cobble cast him a faint smile. "Cobble," he said with a shrug before he got to his feet and went to rejoin Rime and Trig, who were still with Tejaal, Upala and Kali.

Weave busied himself for a moment with entering Tallis' recommendation for Cobble's scans on his datapad and sent the transmission to Upala. When he glanced up, he saw that the copper-haired Jedi was watching him intently. His face warmed under her scrutiny, but he met her gaze without flinching.

"Need something, General?"

She blinked quickly and looked away, toward the other Sector Nine clones. "What will become of them?"

"I'm not sure."

"He was very helpful at Timira City," she said, nodding at Cobble. When Weave agreed, Tallis dropped her gaze to her beige tunic as she smoothed out creases only she could see. "You were more so. In fact, you have been...invaluable on this entire mission."

Maybe he looked foolish gaping at her, but Weave could not suppress his surprise. "Thank you," he managed. "That's gratifying to hear. I'm always glad to help my brothers. It's what I was made for, after all."

"Your skills surpass your engineering and your training. You are," her lips pursed as if she was considering what to say, or how to say it, "wasted as a simple medic. With further education, you could become a great deal more."

"With respect, General, there is nothing  _wasteful_  about healing other clones. There is nothing more important to me than helping these men."

"That is commendable," she said with a nod. "But you could do so with greater capability if you applied yourself to continuing your training to another, higher level."

Despite her complimentary tone, Weave was startled at the thread of anger winding around his heart. It was more of an effort than it should have been to keep his voice appropriately calm. "When can I do that, Tallis? How? I'm a medic; I assist men who have been injured on behalf of the Republic. There is no infrastructure in place for me to become anything else, and truthfully, I have no desire to. I'm doing precisely what I want to do; what I  _should_ be doing."

"I did not mean to imply–"

But he was on a roll and could not, apparently, be stopped. "There is no shame in being a 'simple medic' to other clones. They deserve nothing less than the absolute best I can give. And we are all fighting this war for you."

Tallis' cheeks flushed pink. "Weave, I..."

She trailed off and lifted her head like someone had tapped her shoulder. Slowly, she turned to the side, where her gaze fell upon Milo's tank. Weave looked, too, and caught the flickering pulse reading on the control panel. His  _vod_ was finally waking.

"Kriff," he said, and sprang to his feet. "Kali, get over here!"

His Jedi was at his side in a moment, Upala and her medical team following to swarm around the tank and begin the process of removing the patient. Tallis came, too, but Weave only had eyes for Milo, whose eyelids fluttered behind the protective mask. The Arunai medical team had the situation well in hand, but allowed room for Weave to help steady the other clone during the removal process. He watched the bacta level drop, which was the first step in releasing Milo.

As the pale blue substance trickled out of the tank, back into the reservoir, Kalinda glanced at Weave. "I'll get Crest and Trax; they'll want to be here. You stay with Mi."

"Right," he said, and she dashed out of the room, Jedi-quick.

Weave was no Jedi but he swore he could feel his  _vod_ 's confusion as Milo's fingertips twitched, as if any moment he would rip off the mask. It wouldn't be awful if he did, but Weave didn't want him to feel any distress at all.

By now, the bacta was gone and the transparisteel was lowered, so Weave grabbed his brother's hand to help steady him while the repulsorlift stretcher was brought over. Upala and her people would get him out safely; Weave just wanted to be with him. Unhindered by the tank, the sickly-sweet scent of bacta filled each breath and would cling to Mi for days. Milo's skin was damp and pale, and his fingers were pruned from being submerged for so long.

Weave knew from experience that it would be comforting to hear a familiar voice, so he began to speak. " _Udesii, ner vod,"_ he said, gripping Mi's right hand. "Take it easy, brother. It's going to be okay. You're coming out of bacta. You're safe. I'm right here."

Mi did not answer or grip back, but his head jerked to the side as one of Upala's medical staff reached up to remove his mask, while yet another unbound the harness around his waist. His body twisted as if to get away from the hands grabbing at him – except for Weave's.

Weave didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so he kept speaking to his brother.  _"Udesii,_ Milo. It's okay. You're okay. You're safe."

Milo jerked his head again, adding an incoherent sound of pain as the others started to ease him onto the waiting repulsorlift stretcher. Mi may have been in less-than-ideal condition and not entirely conscious, but he was still a clone, still strong as  _haran_ and a fighter; in his unconscious efforts to break out of whatever held him, he knocked one of the Arunai staffers off of his feet.

"He's panicking," Upala said. "We need to administer more sedatives before he hurts himself."

"You've drugged him quite enough." Tallis elbowed her way past the Arunai team so that she stood beside Weave. He was not expecting her pale hand to rest on Milo's forearm, nor the look of quiet concentration on her face as she used the Force.

Weave looked back at his brother, praying whatever she was doing would work. "It's okay,  _vod._ I'm right here."

Eyes still closed, Milo took a deep breath as his body stilled, and his hand tightened around Weave's.

* * *

_Earlier..._

"My apologies, Majesty, but may I have a word?"

Sita let out a breath, long and slow.  _So close._ She signaled Captain Biswal to stop and paused at the base of the stairwell that lead to the upper-level training ground. Huffing behind her through the sandstone corridors was Nakhasi Ka'ar, one of the more influential members of Parliament, and his son. The day was warm already, even in the shade, and beads of sweat trickled down Ka'ar's round face as he hurried to the queen.

Keeping her features from showing her impatience, Sita offered the man a single nod. "Of course, Member Ka'ar."

"Thank you, Majesty." Having reached her, he splayed one hand against the wall, leaning his weight against it as he mopped at his face with the edge of his peach-colored tunic. He was a large man in every regard, tall and broad as a shadderjee tree, with a braided beard the color of milk. "Forgive me," he added, breathlessly. "Your southern heat does not agree with my thick northern blood. Ghosh – water."

As was custom for Arunai politicians, a Parliament member's firstborn child was supposed to follow his or her parent's footsteps, beginning with acting in the capacity of aide. Ghosh was about Sita's age; he had perhaps another few years before he would be allowed to take on more of his father's responsibilities.

At his father's words, Ghosh handed Ka'ar an unopened bottle of water. As he twisted the top open, Ka'ar indicated the younger man. "Your Majesty...have you met my son? He has just completed his final semester at Alderaan University. It is good to have him home."

She extended her hand; her gold bangles jingled merrily as Ghosh took her palm, bowed, and touched his forehead to the top of her hand as was the custom. "It is lovely to meet you, Ghosh," she said.

"The pleasure is all mine, Queen Hari." Ghosh bowed low while his father looked on behind the bottle of water he drank.

She felt Biswal shift behind her. Her guard captain was silent, as was proper, but he never cared for delay. Sita, however, regarded the Parliament member with a faint smile.

"It is rather warm for the season, isn't it?" she said easily as he guzzled the drink.

"There are so many stairs in the palace," Member Ka'ar replied, handing the bottle back to his son. "And of course, I had to catch you at almost the roof!"

The latest meeting had ended for the day, and Sita, finding herself with a rare, free moment, had hoped to inquire about Milo's condition, as well as that of the other clones that Kali had brought. Of course, she could have done so with a simple comm-call to her friend, which had been how they'd communicated at length the last several days. There was no reason for her to seek out the grounds where her soldiers often practiced, where Crest, even now, led some sort of exercise with Traxis and the other clones.

So she'd heard, at any rate.

At the top of the steps behind her, she could hear men's voices. One voice, really, though it sounded a bit different on each clone. She recognized Crest's laugh when it trickled down to reach her.

After a final swipe of his sleeve against his nose, Member Ka'ar regarded the young queen. His pale blue eyes, all but hidden behind the mounds of his cheeks, were small but shrewd. "I meant to inquire about the Republic force that arrived in Rudral several days ago. The Jedi and her clone soldiers. You released a notice indicating that they were being given asylum..."

"That is correct," she replied. The notice had been a formality; anyone at the palace could see the clones and Jedi, though Kali and her men kept away from public areas.

"There are rumors that the war is spreading to Aruna." Ka'ar's forehead creased as if he were troubled. "You have stated that the Republic's presence here is not an indication of such a thing, but I am an old man, and I have seen too many wars. I fear I do not understand exactly why those soldiers are here if they do not intend to bring the war with them."

"Knight Halcyon and her men are here for reasons of peace, only," Sita said. "Knight Halcyon has done great things for our system; it would have been wrong to turn her away in her time of need. I have gone through great effort to ensure Aruna's compliance with Republic laws in this situation"

He blanched and shook his head hard enough to make his braided beard sway. "Of course, of course. I was not implying..." Ka'ar heaved a great sigh and threw up his hands. "Forgive me, Majesty. The heat has addled my mind. I meant simply to seek clarification. The presence of clones on our world has others on edge."

 _Others,_ she thought wryly, holding Ka'ar's gaze.  _I'm certain._ "Many of these men are injured, Member, and none mean us harm."

"Surely the Republic has medical facilities that can cater to these," Ka'ar coughed into his fist, "soldiers."

"None that could accommodate them in these circumstances," Sita replied. "And it is our duty as a part of the Republic to offer these men a safe haven. Do you know how many clones have been killed since the First Battle of Geonosis?" He shook his head. "Nearly two million," she said slowly, allowing the words to sink in.

Ka'ar's eyes widened and he exchanged a glance with his son. "I was not aware..."

"Two million men," Sita repeated. "Not including those who have been wounded, or those who fight as we speak."

"But they are  _clones_ ," Ka'ar said, frowning. "They were created for this, were they not?"

"Better them than our own citizens," Ghosh added.

Anger coursed through Sita's veins, white and cold; suddenly the day held no heat. She kept her expression calm, though, and merely regarded the Parliament member for several long moments; it was a trick her deceased husband, Badal, had taught her, and had always served her well. Captain Biswal shifted in place, a silent reminder of his presence. Sita was not afraid of Ka'ar, but it was good to know her captain was here. When Ka'ar began to squirm, she spoke again.

"You are partly correct. They share the same face. They were not born of mothers and fathers, but grown in artificial environments. However," she filled her next words with durasteel, "they are still  _men._ They are still living, breathing beings, and they are fighting our war for us. Do you not think, Member, that these veterans deserve a place to rest and recuperate?"

"I–" Ka'ar exhaled and gave a low bow. "You are correct, Majesty. I had not considered them in that way."

Her anger had not fled, but she was genuinely curious. "In what way?"

"As...men." Ka'ar glanced up the stairs, where the baritone voices of the clones echoed. "They seem so...formidable in their armor. Cold and inhuman, like machines."

This view, she thought she could change. Sita extended her hand in invitation. "Come with me, Member."

They ascended the stairs. The upper-level training yard was situated in the center of the palace complex, itself seated at the zenith of a prominent hill. Consisting of a wide, low arena, the training yard was used by the palace guards; beneath it were the guard barracks and control centers. Sita did not often come here, but enjoyed it when she found the time. The view alone was worth any inconvenience of the trip. Rudral spread on all sides; the city was laid out like a patchwork of shimmersilk. In the distance, the Jai Mountains loomed, their peaks still dusted with snow despite the late summer season.

When Sita and the others reached the top of the stairs and stepped out of the sheltering shadows, the sunlight poured over them, making the young queen squint to see clearly. As her vision adjusted, she saw a group of about a dozen clones circled at the center of the yard, performing calisthenics. It appeared to be some unpleasant act that involved each man diving down for a push-up, then springing up on his feet, only to dive back down again. Two clones walked in the middle of the circle, counting each successful completion of the exercise.

"Come on,  _vode,_ " Crest called, clapping his hands in rhythm to the others' movements. "Nineteen more to go. Eighteen. Keep it up."

Even had she not recognized his voice, Sita would have known the gleam of sunlight on his shaved head, and she could not prevent herself from smiling. Nor could she prevent her eyes from grazing over his bare torso; none of the clones wore armor, only fatigues or similar attire, and a few were shirtless. Crest was one of these. She had never seen him shirtless before, but she well-remembered pressing herself close to his chest that evening in her garden, almost a year ago.

Also shirtless, Traxis stood opposite his brother, regarding the other clones with narrowed eyes. The sunlight cast the scars upon Traxis' chest in sharp relief, giving him an added look of ferocity. "Seventeen. Sixteen. Don't think I don't see you slacking off, Ward. Come the kriff on."

"Fek you," another clone gasped, and several of the others managed to chuckle.

No one had seen the new arrivals yet. Sita glanced at Biswal, who straightened under her gaze. "Please comm someone to bring them water."

He nodded and lifted his comlink, turning slightly aside to speak. Member Ka'ar and Ghosh stood beside the queen, eyes fixed on the clones. "So they are Human," Ka'ar murmured to his son. "Is it odd that I imagined them to be droids beneath the armor?"

"I've never seen them without their gear," Ghosh replied. "They make quite an impressive sight."

That they did.

Sita watched Crest approach a one-armed clone, who was doing a modified version of the exercise. "What're we on, Zero?"

"Thirteen," the fellow wheezed. "Is it time for a break, yet? I'm melting to slag."

Crest's grin was discernible even across the yard. "You think this is hot? Try slogging through the deserts of Orea with a malfunctioning kit – for a straight tenday."

As he spoke his eyes lifted and fell upon Sita, and his entire demeanor changed. His jovial face became closed and guarded, and his body went rigid. He took a single step backward, as if she'd slapped him, and glanced at his brother, who'd also caught sight of their audience. Something wordless passed between the men, and Traxis clapped his hands.

"Alright, you lot, let's do some laps."

Another clone began to protest. "But–"

Traxis, however shook his head. "In Mando'a, shiny.  _Shebs._ As in move yours. As in now! _"_

A collective groan rose through the others, but they began to trot around the courtyard in a neat line, Traxis jogging along the inside, calling out the stragglers. Meanwhile, Crest slipped away from them and made his way to Sita and the others. His steps were quick; he moved with precise grace and sweet stars, she could not stop herself from staring at his muscular torso or the broad sweep of his shoulders. She prayed her hair was not too mussed nor her tunic stained with sweat.

When he was within a few arms' length, he bowed from the waist. "Your Majesty. Captain Biswal. Nice to see you both."

Sita stepped forward and tried not to be disappointed when he tensed again. "Crest, this is Member Ka'ar, of our great Parliament, and his son, Ghosh. They expressed an interest in meeting you and your brothers."

At her words, Ka'ar gave a short nod; he was of a higher caste, and therefore not obligated to bow to almost anyone save royalty and religious figures. Ghosh, Sita noted, nodded in a similar manner, though his gaze upon Crest was of a far more admiring variety than his father's.

Crest did not bow, but gave a polite smile and a razor-sharp salute. There was no trace of awkwardness in either gesture. "Nice to meet you both. You're pretty brave to venture up here in this heat," he added wryly, falling into parade-rest.

"I feel rather lazy after watching you and the others," Ka'ar replied with a chuckle. "Did you say something about water, Majesty?"

Everyone looked at Sita, and she nodded, glancing at Crest again. "I thought it would be welcome."

His head dipped in acknowledgment; his words were smooth as any courtier's. "Very much. Thank you."

There were a few more moments of idle conversation before several of the kitchen staff appeared from the stairs, carrying coolers, pitchers and glasses, and various other accouterments. Within minutes they'd set up a table and tent, and began to pour glasses of water.

Seeing this, Crest twisted around, cupped his hands around his mouth and called to the other clones. "Break time,  _vode_!"

As the clones made their way to the water, Crest glanced back at Sita, and she thought she saw a softness to his eyes that belied the rigidity of his stance. Watching the clones, Ka'ar shifted in place, then nodded to his aide. "Thank you for the education, Majesty," he said to Sita. "You have given me much to consider."

He bowed to her and slipped away, Ghosh following after one last look at the clones. Sita and Crest were alone.

Well, not including his brothers and her guards.

She took a breath, and met Crest's eyes. "Are you thirsty?"

"I'll be alright," he said quickly. "But thanks."

"Then will you walk with me for a moment?" she asked. Biswal shifted in place, but she did not look his way, only at the man before her, who looked as if he'd rather jump off the courtyard's edge than go anywhere with her. Her heart sank. Of course, Crest was hardly in a position to refuse her invitation, and, selfishly, she didn't want him to. She'd been waiting almost a year to speak to him again, and she did not know when she would have another spare moment.

"Sure," he said at last, nodding once. "Lead the way." Biswal shot him a look and Crest's mouth twitched like he was fighting back a smile. "I mean, lead the way, Your Majesty. Please and thank you."

Sita did not hide her smile. They began to walk toward the balcony, beyond which Rudral spread before them, glittering in the intense sunlight. "How is their training coming?" she asked, indicating the other clones gathered beneath the tent.

Crest gave a weary chuckle. "It's too early to really call it 'training.' Trax and I are just trying to figure out what we're working with. You can't make bricks without clay."

"Kali has told me some of them wish to return to active duty."

He slanted her a look she did not know how to read. "That's going to be impossible. None of them have ever  _been_ in active duty before. These guys are clones, sure, but they're not soldiers. Not yet, at any rate. They don't have nearly the training that the rest of us do. And," he added, dropping the pitch of his voice, even though they were well out of earshot of anyone else, "most of them aren't...you know. Whole."

Kali had told her some of this, too, but Sita was not familiar with the specifics, only that most of the clones they'd brought from Kamino were...damaged in some way. They'd reached the balcony's edge, so she rested her hands upon it and faced the city. "What do you think should become of them?"

"Hard to say," he said, leaning beside her, back to the city and arms crossed before his stomach while his gaze lingered on the other clones.

"Try?"

He was quiet a moment, considering. "Honestly? They're not fit to fight. Most have some physical condition that would make participation in battles impossible – at least, assuming they'd want a chance of walking away. I know it sounds callous," he added, glancing at her. "But it's the truth. None of these men – guards included – would survive more than a few minutes in real combat.

"But they're still capable," he went on, looking back at his brothers. "Fighting is in their blood, even if they don't realize it. I think they can do  _something._ I'm just not sure what. Who was that massive fellow?"

She was not fazed by the abrupt change in subject. "One of the more influential Parliament members. He sought me out before I came here."

"He looked a bit spooked. I didn't think we were that scary."

A breeze blew across the yard, tugging at Sita's silk dress and a few strands of her braids that had come loose. Her bangles jingled as she smoothed the errant hair in place. "You arrival has caused more of a stir than I anticipated," she admitted. "When I agreed to help Kalinda, I did not expect her to bring so many of your brothers. It's made some people uneasy. But I think," she added slowly, as the thoughts were still forming, "I can shape something positive from the situation."

"What do you mean?"

"Aruna is a part of the Republic, but we are still a monarchy in many ways. Most Parliament members pass their titles through their family lines, in the fashion of the king or queen. Heirs maintain the roles of their family, and keep the caste system thriving. That's why Ka'ar sought me out in private." She sighed. "He wants me to marry his son."

Crest had been staring at her as she spoke; at this, he frowned and looked away. "He wants you to marry that skinny little bishwag?" Immediately after he said the words, he flinched. "Uh...I mean, he seemed...nice."

"He's not...my type," she replied, shaking her head. "We wouldn't be able to tolerate each other for long. But it doesn't matter."

"Why?"

Sita was silent as her stomach twisted. Only a handful of people knew what she was so close to confessing.

Crest seemed to realize she was uneasy, for he turned to face her fully. "What is it?"

"I cannot have children," she said at last, dropping her eyes to the bricks. "Therefore I cannot produce an heir. When I married Badal, whose line reached far, far back in our history, I was anointed as a chosen one of the gods, and any child I produced would then be able to continue Badal's lineage. But I am barren."

Crest had gone very still at this. She risked a glance up at him and saw his brows were knitted as he regarded her. At her look, he tilted his head down as if to better meet her eyes. "This is probably none of my business, but..."

But she knew the question without him giving it voice. "We fell in love," she said simply. "Badal knew of my condition before we married, but he married me because he loved me. He said love would be enough. He'd talked of turning Aruna into more of a democracy anyway; he said this would be the proper motivation to convince Parliament."

Crest shook his head. "I'm just a clone, and even  _I_ know that's a kriffing long-shot."

"At the time, I thought it was romantic. It meant that he loved me for who I was, not what I could give him. Now I realize how utterly foolish we both were." She sighed. "I loved him, too, but he has left me in a precarious position. I have been given several years to find a new husband on my own, but I have not. Soon, now, the talk will begin. Offers of marriage will become more and more frequent. And then I will have to confess what is wrong with me."

"There's  _nothing_  wrong with you," he said immediately, the words sudden and sharp.

She gave him a smile that could not have been convincing. "I'm barren, Crest. Like those men," she indicated the other clones, who'd begun to return to their exercises, "I am not whole."

His face colored and he grimaced. "I haven't shaken off the foot-in-mouth disease, I guess. Sorry."

"Don't be," she replied. "I have known this trouble was coming. I just didn't know what to do about it. But I think I do, now."

"You want to make something good from all this mess," he said, recalling her words.

Sita nodded. "The main impasse to true democracy on Aruna is the caste system; people like Ka'ar think they are 'better,' and should not have to cooperate with those in lower castes. There is a wall between the higher and lower castes, one that I have not found a way to breach. But," she continued, "if the castes could find some sort of common ground, some goal they can work toward, together, I think it will make the transition easier."

"What sort of goal did you have in mind?"

She swallowed and took a single step closer to him, noting how he tensed again. "Helping you and your brothers. Helping the soldiers who fight for us each day."

"Helping, how?"

"I am not certain, exactly," she admitted. "But I am sure something can be thought of. Mainly, I would like to ensure that there is a place for all clones to go, especially if they have nowhere else."

Crest frowned, but she thought it was a thoughtful expression rather than one of disbelief. "It's a nice idea, but like I said, these guys haven't done any real fighting."

"But they still have a future," she replied. "And they make me wonder how many other clones are in similar positions; 'unfit,' as you say, for fighting, but who are still capable."

Crest was silent for a few more moments, his gaze on the city below them. A few clouds had begun to creep across the sky, though they hardly marred the endless expanse of blue. Behind them, she could see that Biswal and the rest of his guards were close at hand – but not close enough to hear anything she or Crest said. His skin, while not nearly as ruddy as that of an Arunai, was still a pleasing tan shade, and gleamed with perspiration. With his attention diverted, she stole a look at his shaved head. Such a thing was utterly foreign to her, as it was Arunai custom not to cut one's hair; a remnant of one of the older, most sacred traditions.

Finally the clone looked at her once more, brow furrowed. "I think it could work," he said slowly. "But I doubt it'll be as simple as you like."

"Few things are."

A faint smile crossed his face at this. "Tell me about it."

She risked another step closer. He did not tense, this time, nor did he look away; he turned more fully to her so that she could not see anything other than  _him_. Right now, there was nothing else she wanted to see. "Crest?"

"Sita?"

Gods above; the way he shaped her name made her heart leap and her palms sweat, and she was suddenly so aware of his closeness; the heat of him and the faint musk of his body. It had been far, far too long since she felt this way. She'd not known the touch of a lover since her husband had passed several years ago, but she had never missed it quite as much as she did now. Crest's eyes on hers were liquid gold.

It was time; she had to tell him. Very likely she would regret doing so, but right now, regret seemed more distant than even the mountains. Her mouth opened to shape the words.

"Majesty." Biswal's voice broke through her haze. The guard captain was striding toward her, a familiar, dark-haired figure at his side.

Crest straightened. "Kali? What's–"

"Milo," the Jedi broke in, shielding her eyes with the flat of her hand. "He's waking up. He needs us."

Sita glanced at the training-yard, and realized the other clones had already gone. Crest cast her a glance that she thought was meant to be apologetic, but she waved him along. Her foolish heart could wait a little longer. "Your brother needs you," she said. "Go to him."

Nodding, Crest darted off for the stairs. Kalinda looked as though she was about to follow, but paused to regard Sita. "Is everything alright?"

"It will be," Sita replied. "We'll talk later. Go to your friend."

She watched Kali rush after Crest, her movements graceful and probably Force-aided, given their smoothness. When the Jedi, too, had disappeared, Sita exhaled and looked back at the city.

"Do you need anything, your Majesty?" Biswal asked quietly.

She glanced his way. His helmet was tucked under his arm, his bright blue eyes fixed on her face. Her captain was not a young man, as evidenced by the deep lines etched on his brow, but nor was he old. In another place and time, she might have looked at him differently.

But there was only one man for her. She was more sure of it now than she'd ever been.

"I'm fine," she told him, smiling. "Thank you."

* * *

A/N: I tried not to linger too much on the political stuff, but it will be important later. Hopefully any boring-ness is mitigated with shirtless clones! ;) Crest's "bricks without clay" line is a Sherlock Holmes reference. Virtual cupcakes if you guess which story it's from!

FYI, there will be no update next Friday, the 17th. Regular updates will resume on April 24th.

Next time: checking in with Palpatine! Ha ha...just kidding. Mi's wakin' up. :D


	35. Chapter Thirty-Four

Lyrics:[ "Breathe," by Stick Figure, from the album,  _Burial Ground._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9ONQWUiNTLM&index=35&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp)

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Four**

_When you feel alone,_

_When you feel afraid,_

_Don't hesitate to call my name,_

_'Cause I'll be there,_

_Be there for you,_

_I'll be there,_

_When you're feeling blue._

Milo's gut roiled. Despite the fact that he was lying on something soft, every limb and muscle ached, and the too-sweet scent of bacta filled each inhale – sure as kriff not helping to mitigate the  _shabla_  nausea. It was a battle to convince his eyes to open, and once he did, everything was blurry. He could not quite make out the faces of those who stood around him, nor could he tell where he was, or how long he'd been out, and the fact that his head and throat felt like they were stuffed with cotton did nothing to ease his disorientation.

 _Fek_ , he thought with a groan.  _Am I hungover? I should_ not  _have had all that ale..._

But even as he had the notion, he discarded it. This was no hangover. He took a breath and tried to focus, and managed to find a vague, watery memory of someone saying his name, plus a lot of other stuff. But while he tried to collect his thoughts and lay them into order, they scattered away from his grip.

Something brushed against his cheek. "Milo."

Blinking, he squinted to try and make out a feminine face with dark eyes and dark hair woven in its customary, single braid. Gone were her Jedi robes; in their place was something purple and silky, a fabric that he'd never seen. But even if she'd been in full Jedi-gear, she would never again seem like as much of a Jedi as she'd once been, at least to Milo. With her face, memories began to flicker back to life, though only some of them were his own. Through the filter of Stonewall's memories, she was no "General" to Milo any longer. She was not even "Knight."

Once he understood this, he managed a smile. "Hi, Kali."

Relief swept through him when she returned the look. "Welcome back. We've missed you terribly."

 _We._ Milo tilted his head and saw three other faces he knew better than his own, and his heart leaped at the sight of his brothers. " _Vode,_ " he said. His voice was hoarse and scratchy, but none of them seemed to notice.

Crest knelt beside him, resting his chin on his hands. "Nice of you to finally join us, shiny."

His voice was mild but his gaze was filled with concern, and his eyes were bright. Milo couldn't help but smile again. "Glad to be here."

Trax stood beside Crest, silent, but eyes sweeping over Milo in silent assessment. When Milo met his gaze, Trax blinked quickly but said nothing. Milo's hand was heavy, but he managed to lift it and reach for Traxis, who accepted immediately.

" _Su cuy'gar_ ," Trax said gruffly even as he squeezed Milo's fingers.

Milo felt his grin widen until he thought his face was going to crack from the force of it. "Hello to you, too,  _vod."_

"You've been in a bacta tank for three days," Weave said, kneeling on Milo's other side. Of course he had a medscanner out, but his eyes weren't on the screen. "How are you feeling?"

Milo considered his answer. "Good. Except...everything hurts. And my mouth feels like Tatooine. And I think I'm going to puke."

"Here, let me."

A woman he didn't recognize stepped forward and placed her hand on his forehead. Immediately, the nausea receded, as did the lingering ache from being sedated for so long, and Milo exhaled in relief. He blinked up at her; she was younger than Kalinda by a number of years, with pale skin and light brown freckles were sprinkled across her nose. She wore Jedi robes and a stern expression as she lifted her hand and regarded him. Her copper hair caught every bit of light in the room; even pinned to her head, it gleamed like a daywing in the summer sun.

"Better?" she asked.

Milo knew he was staring, but couldn't help himself. "Uh...yeah. Thanks."

She nodded once and stepped back, exchanging glances with Kalinda, who took a seat on the edge of Milo's bed. It was a real bed, not a bio-bed. Now that the nausea and most of the pain were gone, he was able to look around and get a sense of wherever the kriff he was. A nice room, plush, with silk curtains over the windows and lingering traces of sandalwood in the air. That scent, more than anything else, sparked countless memories.

But not just  _his_.

Aruna had been an eventful mission for all of Shadow Squad, but none more so than Stonewall. The former captain's memories bloomed within Milo; they swept through him with the force of a thousand spring mornings, and made speaking impossible for a few moments. All Milo could do was allow another man's life to pass before his waking eyes, until the flood receded and he was left strangely hollow.

"Are we on Aruna?" he managed at last.

If anyone had noticed his lapse, they did not comment. Crest nodded. "Yep. Good observation,  _vod._ "

Milo looked back at Kalinda. "He's alive. They just reconditioned him. We have to try and find him."

"I know," she replied. "You told us when we found you on Kamino."

"You don't remember?" Weave asked, brow furrowed.

Milo shook his head. "The last thing I remember is..." He winced. Not-Stonewall leaning over him, one hand on his throat, vibrosword aimed for his heart.  _I should be dead,_ he thought, reaching for the bandages on his upper chest, near his left shoulder.

His right arm worked fine, but when he tried to move his left, its movement was jerky and halted, and felt like it was being stabbed by a hundred needles. Confused, Milo tried to flex his fingers, but they did not cooperate.

A brother's hand closed over his. Milo looked up to see his medic- _vod_ giving him that scarily serious 'I'm-about-to-say-something-you-don't-want-to-hear' look. "You were struck with a vibrosword," Weave said calmly as Milo's breath caught. "It missed your heart, but there is some nerve damage to your upper shoulder, which will affect use of your left arm. We're not sure to what extent yet, but both General Tallis and Upala believe it's only temporary."

"Oh." Milo glanced between his family again, noting the sympathy in each of their eyes. Except the copper-haired woman, who now stood by his feet. He looked down at his left hand and tried to make a fist. He failed. The fingers refused to move properly and flopped about like wet chaka noodles. "It's...tingly."

Weave nodded. "That's your nerves firing back up. I know it feels strange, but it's perfectly normal, and should pass eventually."

"Had a similar thing happen to me when I got this," Trax added, tapping his scarred cheek. "You'll be fine,  _vod._ "

Nodding, Milo shot a glance at the new Jedi again, but she said nothing. Perhaps seeing his look, Kali indicated her. "That's Honi Tallis, my former Padawan. She and her Padawan, Zara, joined us on our little jaunt to Kamino."

At the mention of her name, Honi Tallis dipped her chin in a nod, but said nothing. Milo took a deep breath, trying to absorb all of this new intel and organize everything he wanted – needed – to say. But his own words blurred with images he'd been given, and sifting  _his_ thoughts from his brother's memories was like digging through sugar-sand.

"Stonewall stabbed me," he blurted out at last, looking back at Kali. "But he didn't mean to."

"He's not himself," Kali began.

But Milo cut her off, sitting up and shaking his head. "No. No, he's not. But he is, in a way. And I can help him get better, if I can only  _get_ to him. Kali, we have to find him!"

She put a hand on his right forearm, stilling him. "We will, Mi. But what do you mean you 'can help him get better?'"

This part was complicated. As they all stared at him, Milo realized how kriffing crazy he was about to sound. It didn't help that his head was not  _entirely_ right after being sedated for so long; his thoughts were still slippery and disjointed.

"Stonewall was reconditioned," he began slowly. "But he had a feeling it was going to happen, because Creon kept testing his abilities, plus he just...well, I guess it wasn't such a stretch to figure out. Anyway, we made...provisions."

Weave frowned. Trax and Crest exchanged bewildered glances. Kali's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?" she asked again.

Milo exhaled and rubbed at his forehead with his good hand. "It's...it's really weird. I'm still not entirely sure how we did it, or if it even worked. I guess it did," he added, frowning. "I've still got his memories. I can see them when I close my eyes."

"Mi–"

Kriff. He was fekking it all up. It was all too important, but too much, and the words he wanted clustered in his throat all at once, choking, and none could find their way out. Milo ducked his head and took another deep breath, fighting his way to calm. He tried to clench his fists and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from hissing at the pain that needled through his left arm.

"Stonewall knew they were going to recondition him, so he did something with the Force. He passed on his memories to me, somehow. I don't understand how, only that it happened. He didn't want to lose you." He met Kali's eyes and noted that they were shadowed, like she hadn't had a decent night's sleep in some time.

Milo looked at his brothers, who also gaped at him. "Stonewall didn't want to lose you guys, either." He sighed again and looked back at the dark-haired woman. "And his child. He's going to be a  _buir._ I still can't believe it."

"Milo..."

"He gave all his memories to me, for safekeeping," Milo went on. Kriff, his eyes were burning and he absently wiped at them with the back of his right hand. "Well, not all of them," he amended. "He kept all of his private ones. Said he had a way to keep them safe. I never found out how. They took him away before we'd even finished."

Silence.

Milo kept his eyes downcast. He did not want to see their faces and know that they thought he was crazy. Well, it all  _sounded_ crazy, but it'd  _happened_. He just didn't know what, if anything, could be done about it. He swiped at his eyes again. Well, if they weren't going to say anything, he may as well keep talking. If there was a group of people he could trust more than any other, it was these that had gathered by his side.

So he looked back at Kalinda, who still gaped at him. "I know it sounds thermal, but it's true. Yeah, he was reconditioned, but I  _know_ he's still in there. I know Stonewall is still  _there._ When he stabbed me," she flinched, "he could have killed me, but he didn't. He missed, and I think it was on purpose."

"On purpose?" Honi Tallis' refined Coruscanti accent caught Milo off-guard, and he glanced at her. She was the only person in the room not staring at him open-mouthed.

"He knocked me down," Milo said. "The blade was inches from my chest. It was a shot that no clone could miss, even drunk, one-armed and blindfolded. Stonewall missed on purpose. I know it. That means he's still  _there._ We have to find him."

"Easy,  _vod._ " Weave placed a hand on his right shoulder. It was only then that Milo realized he was leaning forward, knees shifting like he was about to jump out of bed. At Weave's touch he relaxed and leaned back into the pillows.

Kalinda still held his forearm, and she gave it a gentle squeeze. Whatever shock had been on her face had faded, replaced with a fierce kind of determination that heartened Milo like nothing else. She said, "We will find him, Milo. I promise."

Tallis frowned and opened her mouth, but seemed to change her mind. No one else seemed to notice, though, as Weave spoke again. "If you remember getting stabbed...do you remember...contacting us?"

 _What. The. Kriff?_  Milo blinked at his brother. "Huh?"

Trax tapped his temple. "On the way to Kamino, I...heard you in my fekking head. What the frag did you do?"

"Yeah," Crest added. He'd taken a seat on the other side of Milo's legs, opposite Kalinda. "It was bizarre, Mi. Like you...spoke right inside my brain."

"It was like that for all of us," Kalinda added. "Though I was the only one who could reply."

It was a little nice to not be the only one spouting crazy  _osik._ "I don't know what you're talking about," Milo said. "I didn't call you. I didn't even have a comlink."

Kalinda met his eyes with her own dark ones, and for a moment he was overwhelmed with memories of those eyes, that face; a memory of love suffused him and it was an effort to push past even the borrowed feeling. "You used the Force, Milo," she said quietly. "Somehow, you used it to call all of us. You called for help. You don't remember doing that?"

All at once he felt that he was letting his family down. His face heated and he looked down at his  _shabla,_ tingly hand. "No. I'm sorry."

Her slender one covered his own and he met her gaze again, noting the affection within it. "You have nothing to be sorry for," she told him, squeezing gently. "It's strange to all of us, but we'll figure it out. And we'll find Stone."

"Yeah, maybe he can shed some light on this insanity," Crest added.

Nodding, Milo skimmed his good hand through his hair, still lost in thought. When he felt Kali's touch lift, he looked back at her. "Stonewall said I wasn't Force-sensitive. Is that true...?"

She seemed to consider something. "You have a presence in the Force, as all living beings do. But you are not Force-sensitive, Mi."

"You're sure?"

"Positive." She smiled a sad smile. "Are you disappointed?"

"No way," he replied, shuddering. "It seemed like a lot of trouble, especially considering–" Luckily, he was able to snap his mouth shut before adding,  _what happened to Stonewall._ But her shoulders sagged anyway.

"But if Mi's not Force-sensitive, how was he able to call us?" Weave asked.

Kalinda exchanged looks with Honi; Milo wasn't sure how to read the copper-haired Jedi's expression, but he thought she, too, was confused. "I don't know," Kalinda said as she glanced back at Milo. "Perhaps it has something to do with the...memory transference you mentioned?"

"I hate to be that guy," Crest broke in. "But how do you know that...memory sharing thing really happened? How do you know it really worked?"

"He has a point," Weave added. "Not that we don't believe you, Mi, but you have to admit...it sounds a bit...odd."

Kalinda regarded him; to an outsider, she would appear to be neutral, the perfect Jedi, but Milo realized he knew her well enough to see the apprehension in her gaze. "Do you feel comfortable sharing any of what he told you?"

"He didn't  _tell_ me so much as...pass the memories on. With the Force, I mean. It felt kind of like watching a bunch of holovids playing inside my head." Milo considered a moment, trying to select just one of the thousands of memories. At last he nodded to himself, and met Kalinda's eyes once more.

"Coraux," he said, and her breath caught. "You and Stonewall drank lipana tea and watched a recap of Eltair's latest bolo-ball match. And you," kriff, he was blushing, but there was nothing to do but push on, "were curled up next to him on that chair, that comfy round one that Crest and I kept bickering over. Your hair was loose. The tea was sweet, but not too much, and I –  _he_  – could smell the ocean outside the door."

There was silence again as everyone stared at him. Milo knew he was flushing pretty hard; it was a private memory, but not  _too_ private. Hopefully they believed him now. Milo said, "I'm sorry," without quite knowing why.

This seemed to snap Kali out of her trance, for she blinked a few times and nodded. "It's alright, Mi. I remember that, too. You guys comm'd us not long after, because you needed a ride back to the villa." She took a deep breath and gave him a wary look. "What else did he pass on?"

"Yeah," Trax added, arms crossed before his chest almost defensively. "I'm a bit curious, myself."

Somehow, Milo's face got even hotter, but thank the Force, his words were calm, even a little bit wry. "Nothing...private," he said to Kali, though he wondered why Trax also looked relieved. "He wanted to keep that stuff for himself..."

The words trailed off as he yawned, suddenly exhausted. But he had no wish to go back to sleep just yet and tried to look as awake as possible as he glanced between his  _vode._ "If you all knew that Stonewall is Force-sensitive, why didn't anyone tell me?"

Kalinda answered before anyone else could. "Crest and Weave only learned of it when you were both arrested. Trax learned it before that, on Balasi, but Stone asked him not to say anything. We don't know how it happened."

"The Force works in mysterious ways, huh?" Milo yawned again and Kali gave a helpless laugh.

"It does at that."

Seeing him yawn, Weave straightened and glanced around the room. "I think it's time Mi gets some more rest. We can continue this conversation another time."

Milo shook his head and bit back another yawn.  _Shab;_ why was he so kriffing tired? "I'm...fine..."

"You are most certainly not," Honi Tallis broke in, pale eyes fixed on him. "You've just woken from a conergin-induced stasis and are still recovering from a serious injury. It will be some time before you are 'fine.'"

That was depressing, but Milo was too sleepy to feel anything more than mild disappointment. He leaned further into the pillows and sighed when his body sunk down. Aruna. There were much worse places he and his family could have wound up. His eyes drifted shut as the others began to move away, but a thought occurred to him and he sat up, blinking.

"Wait..." They paused and his face heated, but he'd been without them too long and he wasn't ready to be alone again. "Can...can someone stay until I fall asleep? And be here when I wake up?"

Trax stepped back to the bed and took a seat beside Milo's head. "I'll keep you company, Mi."

"And someone will be here whenever you wake up," Kalinda added, smiling at him warmly. "But for now, please try to get some rest. We'll talk more later, okay?"

"'mkay." Milo sighed and watched as the others slipped out; Crest paused to squeeze his good shoulder and Weave gave him a few more encouraging "you'll be just fine" words. Honi Tallis said nothing, which...well, he wasn't sure how he felt about that. He didn't know her, after all.

When the room was empty except for him and Trax, the scarred clone leaned back in his chair and regarded Milo. "Why'd you do it?"

Trax could have meant any number of things, but Milo thought he knew what. He toyed with the hem of the blanket pulled over his chest and considered his answer. "You said so yourself. He needed someone to watch his six."

Trax squeezed his eyes shut. "You shouldn't have–"

"No." Milo sat up a bit, shaking his head. "I made a choice. I knew what could happen if I went to Kamino with him. I did it anyway."

"You're just a kriffing kid. You shouldn't have had to make that choice." Trax's hands clenched into fists in his lap. "I should have made it for you."

Milo frowned. "I'm not a kid, Trax, any more than you are. And I know I do dumb  _osik_ sometimes, but I'm no shiny."

"Not anymore."

"I don't think I've been a shiny for a long time, Traxis."

His brother nodded but said nothing, only leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, hands clasped before his forehead. Just when Milo thought he wasn't going to say anything else, Traxis spoke. "You're right,  _vod._ It's just," he sighed heavily, "I was so kriffing sure you were going to be killed, and I thought...I failed you."

This was unexpected. Milo studied his brother, who didn't meet his eyes. "You didn't fail me, Trax. Even if I had gotten killed, it wouldn't have been your fault. I made my own choice."

Trax made a gruff noise of acknowledgment. "Stubborn  _di'kut._ It still should have been me. You deserved better."

Despite his sleepiness, Milo smiled at his brother. "So do you."

To his surprise, Trax returned the smile, though it faded almost immediately into his normal, nearly scowling expression. "Get some kriffing rest,  _vod,_ before I get Tallis to knock you out again."

"Right." Milo nestled back into the bed, thinking it was almost  _too_ soft after a lifetime of hard, cots, but that notion faded almost immediately as sleep began to take him over. The last thing he saw before drifting off was his brother, watching over him, and he smiled again. He was not alone.

* * *

Kali was the last one out of Milo's room. Not until the door slid shut behind her did she release a breath, though the tension that had begun to build since Mi had woken did not relent.

He was awake and on the mend, for which she was immensely grateful, but she had not been prepared for the experience he'd shared.

It was all too much to process right now, so she turned her attention to other matters. Weave and Crest stood at hand, looking at her expectantly, so she nodded to the common area; Milo's room was one of the private ones adjacent to it. "Will you both please bring in Zara and Misfit Squad? I imagine they'll appreciate an update on Mi."

As the guys slipped out of the room, she looked at Honi. "What do you think?"

Honi frowned. "I hardly know what to think. It's far too soon to make an assessment."

"Milo called them.  _And_ me. Through the Force." Kali rubbed her forehead and leaned against the closed door to Mi's room. "And the memory thing... Sweet stars, I had no idea Stone could do something like that."

"If he  _did_  do it." Honi glanced back at the door. "An accurate description of a single memory does not mean everything Milo said is true, though I have no doubt he believes it to be. There is a possibility that he's suffering from stress, or some sort of trauma-related psychosis."

In her heart, Kali knew Milo had spoken the truth, but she could not deny Honi's rationale. "He's not the type to lie about something like this; I'm not sure he could even imagine it on his own. But we'll find out, one way or another. But it's..." She was startled by the hot pricking behind her eyes, and paused to swipe away the initial tears. "He's not as lost as I feared," she whispered.

Honi exhaled quietly and placed a hand on her elbow to guide her away from the door. They crossed the room and took seats on one of the couches, and the copper-haired woman regarded her carefully. "Time has been short lately, so I have not asked how you are you planning to find your husband? Can you feel him in the Force?"

Closing her eyes, Kali dropped into meditation and took several deep breaths. The Force rippled around her, currents of energy that ebbed and flowed around and through all living things. Within the currents were the threads that bound her to those she loved: the guys and the woman beside her, and a few others, scattered across the galaxy.

The bright thread that had once led to Stonewall still waved in the void; severed and adrift, but it remained.

"I can't feel him," she admitted, ducking her head. "But if he's out there, I will find him, no matter how long it takes. I made a promise."

"Even if you do find him, remember that he attacked his brother. Regardless of whether he meant to kill Milo, do you think that is the action of the man you love?"

"He's not himself." Kali barely managed to get the words out; her throat burned and her heart raced. She clenched her fists, digging her nails in hard enough to break the skin.

Honi's voice wavered a little at first, though her words gained traction as she spoke. "He butchered those Kaminoans and took off for who-knows-where. Kalinda...in all likelihood, even if you find him again, he will never be the man you knew. You must accept the possibility that the Stonewall you married might be lost to you forever."

Anger and fear warred within Kali's heart, each tugging at the edges of her spirit with a durasteel grip. Despair, too, her constant companion of late, slithered into the breach and coiled in the front of her mind. It was all so hopeless. Never had she felt like less of a Jedi.

But she  _was_  still a Jedi.

 _Inhale. Exhale_. She could not alter what had taken place. She could only affect her present circumstances and hope that by doing so, she would shape the future. Hers and her child's. This, too, gave her strength. Kali pressed a hand to her belly and breathed deeply, sending waves of love and affection to the little spark. Her child, and Stonewall's. There was too much at stake for her to give way to despair and she knew better than to relent to fear. It had laid claim to her too many times. No more.

The burn of tears receded and her heart slowed to a more manageable pace. She met Honi's eyes again and noted the concern within them as Honi spoke again. "Kali? Are you alright?"

Kali gave her a small smile; the best she could manage right now. "You're right. There are many possible outcomes to this situation, and I understand that it could end badly. But I can't dwell on that. I have to keep hope alive. Do  _you_  understand?"

"I think so." Honi bit her lip; the action made her look like a teenager again. "I'd like to."

Before Kali could reply, Crest and Weave appeared in the doorway, along with Misfit Squad – kriff, the name really had stuck, hadn't it? – and, trailing in behind everyone, Zara. As the clones began to converge around the Jedi, Honi hardly looked at her Padawan as the blue-skinned girl stood to one side.

Most of the Sector Nine clones were sweaty and shirtless, and moved stiffly; Crest and Trax had been working them rather hard the last few days. Being unfamiliar with the details of a clone's training, Kali had decided to let them handle Misfit Squad as they saw fit, though eventually something would have to be done with the fellows. Another matter to handle once she found the time.

Levy was the first to approach. Where the other clones, aside from Weave and Crest, shuffled along with hesitation, the younger fellow all but raced to Kali, coming to stand at a formal parade-rest before her. His stance was perfect; she felt a pang in her heart at the rigidity of his body and the way the Force shivered with apprehension as he regarded her. He was so young. Within his light-brown eyes, she could see traces of Stonewall's. Would their child have eyes like that? Would he or she stand so tall and straight?

She tried to keep her thoughts from showing and gave him a warm look. "Milo's out of the tank and sleeping peacefully," she said as the other clones gathered around her. "He will have to undergo some physical therapy, but he's out of danger and on the mend."

Most of the others looked relieved, and a few quiet murmurs moved through their ranks at the news. Cobble, the medic, exhaled and nodded to himself. "Cobble."

"Thanks to your quick action in Timira City," Weave said to the other medic. He and Crest had taken seats as well, after urging the others to do so. "We wouldn't have been able to save him had you not treated him so soon after his injury."

Cobble flushed and looked away, though his Force-presence rippled with warm satisfaction.

"And none of that would have happened if Hal and I hadn't stepped in, sir," Ward said, lifting his chin and meeting Kali's eyes. Halligan, though silent, gave her a similar regard. Hope trickled from both, as well as uncertainty, and she realized with a start that it was directed at  _her._

 _Of course._ She was probably the first Jedi Ward and Halligan had met since leaving Tipoca City as cadets. Apparently, they still wanted to serve under her command.

She'd not spoken to the Council since they'd put her on probation, and she was still not entirely sure of what shape her future would take. Though she was reluctant to turn away anyone from the path they desired, she thought that Ward and Halligan should have more information before making a decision.

 _Should I break it to them now, or wait?_ Later, perhaps. So she only nodded to the former guards. "You both have my gratitude."

There were a few more minutes of discussion before Misfit Squad filed out of the room once more, groaning, and urged on by Crest and Weave. Judging from Crest's devious grin, the next bout of training promised to be a brutal one.

Only one clone remained.

Levy had not moved from his position. Only when the room was empty of the other Sector Nine clones did he shift his feet and meet Kali's gaze with tangible apprehension. "When can I see him, Generals?"

"Not for some time," Honi replied sharply. "He's sleeping."

Kali ignored her former apprentice and patted the cushion beside her. Levy's eyes darted to Zara, who sat across the room; the Padawan smiled at him and nodded, so he took a seat, albeit nearly hanging off the edge, knees bouncing in place.

"Trax is with him now, but you're welcome to sit with him as well," Kali said to the boy. "I know Milo will be glad of a friendly face when he wakes up."

Levy's knees stilled and he cast her a look that was half-wariness, half-uncertainty. "I'd like to ask you something else, sir. If you don't mind, that is. I know you're busy."

She nearly asked him to drop the 'sir,' then decided against it. The boy radiated discomfiture, no doubt a result of being alone with two Jedi Knights and a Padawan; there was no need to unsettle him further with corrections that only suited her personal preferences.

"What do you need, Levy?" she asked.

He rubbed his hands together, inhaled, then met her eyes. "What's going to happen to me?"

Ah, the eternal question. Kali found her lips curling up in a wry smile that she could not quell. "That depends. What would you like to happen?"

Again, he looked at Zara, and Kali felt ripples of affection reach from the girl to the young clone, though she didn't think the boy was aware of them. Honi, though, gave her Padawan a sharp look, one that caused Zara's emotions to snap back as she ducked her head. Kali risked a glance at her former Padawan, allowing a silent warning to seep through the Force, and Honi frowned.

Heedless of the silent, Force-laden drama, Levy rubbed his hands together again, rocking slightly in his seat as he considered his answer. Or perhaps he was simply trying to work up his nerve. Kali considered patting his shoulder but thought better of it, not wishing to add to his discomfort with an unfamiliar touch.

"If it helps, you have permission to speak freely," she told him instead.

This seemed to do the trick. The rocking ceased and his hands stilled, and he sat up a bit straighter. "I'd like to find my brothers, sir. Last I knew, they were still on Kamino, though there was talk of our squad joining the Clone Youth Brigade and taking a trip to Coruscant."

"You wish to rejoin them?"

"Yes, sir."

Given her current status with the Order and the GAR, that would likely be difficult to arrange. "I can't promise much," Kali said, and his face fell. "Only that I will try. At the very least, I think we could manage to get word to your brothers, even if you can't rejoin them."

He frowned. "I don't know if they'd want me around anymore."

By now, Kali had heard most of Misfit Squad's stories, and remembered Levy's own tale of freezing up during a training sim. Indeed, as she watched him, it was clear that he was still not quite  _right,_ though she could not pinpoint exactly how.

"Besides," he added, a faint smile creeping to his face. "I'm having fun studying the nanodroids with Commander Zara."

"Is that so?" Kali asked, glancing at the Padawan, who was grinning. "Weave mentioned that you were trying to figure out how to program them."

This, too, was another unexpected result of her self-appointed mission to Kamino. She had no clue what to do with fek-loads of microscopic droids, but they were still intriguing. Weave had been rather excited about them.

At Kali's look, Zara sat up. "We're working on it. I can sort of sense them through the Force, so we're trying to see if I can influence them somehow."

Levy nodded. "I  _think_ I can figure out how to give them orders, but it's complicated, and, well," he flushed and looked down, "the Force is easier."

" _Some_ times," Zara corrected him, and they shared another smile.

Honi's face, however, closed in on itself, and her lips pursed in the way they did just before she started lecturing, so Kali hurried to head off the approaching diatribe. "Thank you both for your efforts with the droids," she said, looking between the kids. "I hope we can find something positive to do with them."

Both of them beamed.

"You're encouraging her," Honi said once the younglings had slipped out of the room, drawing Kali's attention back.

Kali looked at her former apprentice and kept her own voice cool. "Someone needs to. Her Master doesn't seem to want anything to do with her."

Spots of pink bloomed on Honi's cheeks but she lifted her chin. "She's growing attached to the boy."

"She's fourteen years old," Kali replied. "She's lonely. And when you aren't reprimanding her, you're ignoring her. I can't blame her for seeking companionship elsewhere."

"I haven't been ignoring her," Honi shot back. "I've been extraordinarily busy helping the men  _you_ were so keen to rescue, while you've been agonizing over old wounds."

Something panged within Kali's heart at her friend's words, and it was an effort to keep her expression neutral. She said nothing for a moment, only studied Honi as she worked to gather her own calm. The room was silent, made to feel even more so by the faint sounds of others walking through the palace halls just beyond the doorway.

Before she could speak, though, Honi winced. "That was unfair of me, Kalinda. I apologize."

"You all but forced yourself on this mission," Kali reminded her.

Honi nodded. "I remember. I just..." She sighed and rubbed her forehead, where a few strands of coppery hair had come loose. "Helping Milo and these men – and working with Weave – has been something of an eye-opener for me. I was not aware of the trials they faced. I suppose I let myself get swept away in...well, everything."

Kali sighed and leaned her elbow on the couch cushion, resting her head upon her folded arm. "Trust me, the clones have a way of doing that."

To her amusement, the pink flush in Honi's cheeks darkened. "Perhaps, but I'm not...interested in any of them in  _that_  way."

Despite the other Jedi's cool words, her thoughts betrayed her. Tendrils of Honi's focus reached through the Force, through the palace, searching for one man with a quiet, easy smile, and twin strips of hair shaved into his skull.

Rather than comment, Kali only nodded to her former Padawan. "Apology accepted, Honi. And for the record...I'm grateful you came along. You  _and_  Zara."

Honi smoothed out imaginary wrinkles in her tunic. "Yes, well...Force knows what sort of trouble you'd get into without me around."

"All kinds," Kali assured her. "And I'm sure more trouble is in both our futures, if the Council has anything to say about it."

"Let them," Honi replied. At Kali's startled look, the copper-haired Jedi shrugged. "I'm doing good work here, with these men. More than I was at the Temple, at any rate. This mission with you has made me wonder what else I could do for them."

This was unexpected. Good, but unexpected. Kali studied the other Jedi. "I'm sure you could do a great deal of good for any injured clones you meet, but don't you have duties at the Temple?"

"Tending Jedi who have been injured in combat, along with many other Healers. But I am starting to think my abilities may be better put to use elsewhere. They," Honi glanced at the doorway where the clones had gone, "need me more than anyone at the Temple. I think I would like to continue to assist injured clones in a similar capacity."

Such simple words, but their truth resonated. Maybe it was just hormones, but Kali didn't care. What she  _did_  want, dearly, was to embrace her former apprentice, but Honi would not appreciate the gesture of affection. She settled with briefly hugging Honi's shoulders, even though the other woman tried to pull away almost at once.

When she relented, Honi glared and pointedly rubbed her shoulder. "I'm inferring by your reaction that you approve of my leanings."

"I think you should do what you feel is best."

Honi sighed. "The Council will likely  _not_  approve, given my recent abandonment of my post."

"Yes, they tend to frown on that sort of thing."

"But I still feel it is the right course of action," Honi continued, as if Kali had not spoken. Her brows knitted and she seemed lost in thought for a moment. "These men are fighting a war for us, after all."

"There are many men out there like the ones we've brought to Aruna," Kali replied. "More so, because Misfit Squad hasn't actively served, though they still need a place where they can shape their futures."

A thoughtful frown crossed Honi's face. "Yes, there are several million clones in active duty now, aren't there? I wonder how many of them are injured enough to warrant a decommission?"

Any levity Kali had felt from her friend's revelation died. "They don't get decommissioned, Honi. They get sent to Kamino. Permanently."

"You make it sound as if they are not allowed to live if their injuries are severe enough."

How could she not know? How could anyone not know? But then, Kali  _had_  known and had not done anything about it. Willful inaction was worse than ignorance. A knot of shame tightened in her heart, but she pushed through it. Now, more than ever, she had an opportunity to make things right. Aruna had given her the means; Stonewall and Milo's arrest had spurred her to action.

"You saw for yourself how little value the Kaminoans give them," Kali said. "And the guys have told me stories of what happens to clones who don't make it through their training." At Honi's incredulous look she elaborated. "They're 'processed.' It's a sanitized word for 'killed,' like 'reconditioned' is synonymous with whatever kriffing memory-wipe  _osik_  they did to Stonewall."

Honi was silent, and Kali marveled at the way the Force allowed her an insight into the sharpening of her friend's understanding, though along with that clarity came a dawning kind of horror as all the pieces began to fit into place. At last the copper-haired woman nodded slowly, and when she met Kali's eyes, there was nothing but determination within her slender face.

"I think," she said slowly, "it's time someone put a stop to such barbaric behavior."

"I agree."

"Or at the very least, present an alternative course of action."

Kali took a deep breath, thinking of everything they'd encountered on Kamino, only some of which they'd brought to Aruna. They'd found Milo and had some inkling of what had happened to Stonewall, but there was still so much more that needed to be done. She hardly knew where to begin.

So she got to her feet, smoothing out the dress she'd been given. It was a far cry from her robes, but it was much more comfortable for this environment. Aruna was karking  _hot_ this time of year. "I should get going. I have a call to make."

"Who?"

The way Honi asked, Kali thought she knew the answer. So she only smiled at her former apprentice. "A friend."

* * *

As it happened, Kali didn't get a chance to do so until nearly dusk.. But she didn't mind the delay. She was not sure she  _wanted_ to make this comm-call, though it was important. She chose a secluded part of Sita's garden, leaning against a bulbous shadderjee tree and savoring the scent of night-blooming jasmine as she entered Ben's code.

"Kali?" Obi-Wan's crackled with static over the voice-only call.

"Am I interrupting?"

"Nothing that can't wait a few moments. Where are you?"

"Safe. I won't bore you with details, but I thought you'd want to know that much."

He sighed. The comlink magnified the sound into a severe hiss. "Honi Tallis and her Padawan have been reported missing. Am I correct in assuming they're with you?"

She studied how the final golden shafts of sunlight disappeared between the branches on all sides, and considered how best to answer this without further incriminating either Honi or Zara. They'd chosen to follow her, but she was responsible for both. "They're safe, too."

"Mace is not pleased with you," Obi-Wan said when she did not elaborate. "And the entire Council shares his inclination."

"Even General Kenobi?"

He gave one of those dry chuckles she knew so well. "Oh, he has a few choice words with you, though he is not as surprised as he perhaps should be. He knows you better." There was a break in the transmission, so she only caught some of his next words. "...reason you called besides testing...boundaries of friendship?"

Kali winced at the reprimand within his mild words. He may have been a Council member, but in her mind he was her friend first, and she'd often taken advantage of that fact. But what else could she have done when Stonewall and Milo's lives were at stake?

"I wanted to tell you that we found Milo," she said quickly. "He's injured, but recovering."

Obi-Wan's silence was itself a question.

Kali took a deep, shaking breath. "Stonewall was reconditioned. No one knows where he is now."

"But you have a plan?"

Several, actually, but only one she was willing to share at the moment. A cool breeze teased the branches that hung around her, and she could not suppress a shiver. "I want to contact Quin."

"Quinlan Vos?" Force, she could picture the "o" Obi-Wan's mouth formed when he was truly surprised. It was not an expression he wore often. "Are you quite serious?"

" _Quite_  quite," she said. "I can't get a clear reading on where Stonewall might have gone, but I think Quin could."

"Perhaps..."

Kali shook her head even though the transmission was voice-only. "Stonewall is Force-sensitive, Ben. He's been reconditioned and is likely suffering a great deal of anxiety – or worse. He," she had to force herself to form the words, "killed several Kaminoans, and the other clones we found reported seeing him acting erratically, even beyond that. It's imperative that I find him."

"If the situation is that serious, the Council must know. A rogue Force-user is a danger to everyone."

She took another deep breath, fighting to remain calm. "Of course. Tell them whatever you want, but I think, at this point, Quinlan has the best chance of finding him."

"Quinlan and you," Obi-Wan replied. "Right?"

With any luck, she would be on bed-rest when Quin rolled around, but that was information for another time. There was also the matter of the men they'd rescued from The Dregs, but Kali was not certain how to properly explain all of that just now. Already, she'd kept Obi-Wan too long. "Right. I know it's a long-shot, but it's worth a try. The thing is...I don't have his comm-code."

Obi-Wan sighed again, and she imagined he was rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Calling a Council member for assistance with your dissident behavior. You have no shame, do you?"

"Not so much lately." She toyed with the end of her braid. "So...?"

"I can pass along your request and the comm-code you're using," he replied after a beat. "But Kali...I will have to tell the Council what you've told me. I can't play referee for you any longer."

She'd expected this. It was the other shoe that would have to drop once she contacted her friend. "That's fair," she agreed. "And for what it's worth, I do plan on speaking with them in person. Just...not right now. I need to sort out a few matters on my end. But you can tell them to expect me later."

"I'm certain Mace will be delighted to hear that," he said, deadpan. "I only hope I can be present for the inevitable celebration he will throw in your honor."

"Thank you," she replied lightly.

Wherever he was, whatever he was doing  _had_  to be more important than this call, but he did not cut off the transmission here, as she'd thought he would. Instead, he was silent a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice held a compassion that humbled her.

"I'd hoped you would find him, safe and sound. I'm sorry, Kali. I truly am."

Obi-Wan had always been a better friend to her than lover; it'd taken her many, many years to understand and accept that, but never had it been more apparent than this moment. Kali could hardly speak for the love and gratitude that caught in her throat. Yes, she did love him – from a certain point of view.

In the end, all she managed was a quiet, "Thank you, Ben."


	36. Chapter Thirty-Five

Lyrics: ["Hello," by Tristan Prettyman, from  _Hello...X._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-7yRIEHnZaY&list=PLB-uoTbli8hT8lZKYL1H65b47gyoNc8cP)

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Five**

_Hello._

_My god, you're beautiful,_

_It's true._

_Every day I stumble,_

_Gettin' caught up on you._

_The next morning.._.

Weave stood within arm's reach of Milo and held up his fist. "Alright,  _vod._ Try to grab this."

Milo's face was a study in concentration as he lifted his left hand – slowly – and reached for Weave's. Mi's fingers closed about Weave's knuckles, but his grip was too loose and he grimaced as if he were in pain.

At last Milo dropped his arm and sighed, flexing his hand as he poked at his palm with the fingers of his right hand. "That's a negative."

Bacta and the Force had healed the worst of the wound, but the nerve damage would take some time to correct. Weave made a notation on Mi's chart about the failed attempt but kept his voice warm and encouraging. "How bad does it hurt?"

"Not too much." Milo shifted his shoulder. "The tingly feeling is pretty strange, but the numbness is the weirdest part."

Weave nodded and entered that data as well. They were in the makeshift medbay, where Weave had spent most of his time on this world – actually, Milo had, too – and it was just after breakfast. Well; for Weave and Milo, anyway. Trax and Crest had taken most of The Dregs clones out for more exercises, with promises of food once they returned. Levy was with them, and the Jedi were meditating in their quarters. With Mi out of bacta and the guys from The Dregs in relatively decent shape, most of Upala's staff had left by now; only Tejaal, one of the Arunai doctors, remained, seated in one corner of the medbay as she worked on a datapad.

"My legs are fine, though," Milo added hopefully, swinging them over the edge of the exam table on which he was seated.

Weave met his brother's eyes. "You just got out of bacta yesterday. You need to wait another couple of days before you jump back into training."

"But it's just so  _boring,_ sitting around! That was all we did at The Dregs; I know I can't really spar with a bum arm, but maybe I can jog or something?"

Due to their rapid-aging and intense, physical conditioning, most clones had an abundance of energy and so desired a great deal of exercise, as much to keep their bodies in working order as to give all that energy somewhere to go. In Weave's experience, this had always manifested itself particularly strong in Milo. After what Mi had been through on Kamino, Weave didn't blame his brother for wanting to go back to "normal."

But his first duty was to Mi's physical health. Weave steeled himself so that even his brother's pleading gaze would not sway his decision. "Let's give it two more days, alright? In the meantime, you can work on PT here."

Milo heaved a sigh, but nodded. "You're the medic."

"And don't you forget it," Weave said, lightly cuffing his brother's good shoulder in hopes of making Mi smile. Emotional health was important too.

Happily, his attempt worked. Beaming, Milo straightened and balled his right hand into a fist, which he waved in Weave's direction. "Try me! I can spar one-handed any day."

Weave smiled. This was the Milo he'd missed. "That you can. You certainly left Commander Fox with quite a memorable bruise."

Milo's eyes widened and he lowered his fist. "Commander Fox? Really? That's the guy I punched?"

Nodding, Weave couldn't help but chuckle. "You don't do anything halfway, do you  _vod?"_

"I guess not. Wow." Milo went quiet as Weave entered some more information on his 'pad. He didn't think much of it until he glanced up again. Milo's gaze was fixed on the medbay's doorway, where the three Jedi entering the area, speaking among themselves. Milo's eyes trailed after Tallis, who walked beside Kali.

Weave looked back down at his datapad but didn't do more than idly scroll through his notes. He was not certain what to make of the annoyance trickling through him at the sight of Milo watching Honi –  _General_   _Tallis_  – so intently, any more than he knew what to do about the flush of embarrassment when he recalled his sharp words to the copper-haired Jedi yesterday.

 _No_ , he realized as the Force-users approached.  _Not annoyance. Jealousy._ But why would he feel jealousy if Milo showed an interest in...

_Kriff._

There was nothing unusual in being attracted to a woman, of course, and in the past, Weave found himself oddly drawn to Force-users, though he'd never quite been able to figure out why. He shot another glance between Tallis and Milo.  _Jealousy._ It was a useless emotion, wasn't it? And Milo had barely talked to Honi –  _Tallis_ – and she to him. There was no logical reason to feel jealous. Besides, Weave had watched enough holovids to recognize how jealousy could drive a wedge between people. He didn't care for that outcome. But there was no denying the feeling that had taken root within his heart.

He'd never had to compete with any of his brothers for female attention. Naturally, his and Trax's tastes veered wildly away from each other, as did his and Crest's, albeit to a lesser extent. He'd long since stopped thinking of Kali as anything other than a sister-type figure in his life; even in Shadow Squad's early days, he'd recognized Stonewall's attraction to the dark-haired Jedi, and had turned his attention elsewhere.

Milo's preferences had always been a little more difficult to suss out, not because the other man didn't  _have_ them, but because Weave always thought of him as so much younger, a kid in a lot of ways, barely playing at flirtation and women. But, as he surreptitiously observed Mi's mannerisms, Weave realized the flaw in his own perspective. Mi wasn't really  _that_ much younger than any of Shadow Squad. Weave's perception of him as being so was a fallacy.

"Morning, guys," Kali said as the Jedi approached both men. "Mi, how's the arm?"

"I can almost make a fist," Milo replied, demonstrating. "It hurts a little, but it's not bad."

Kalinda patted his good shoulder. "Glad to hear it. I want you to let someone know if it  _does_ hurt too much, alright? There's no point in playing stoic hero, not with Jedi around, at any rate."

"Will do," Milo said with a nod. "Weave says I need to stick around here a few more days before I can train with the others, though."

"A few days, at the very least," Tallis broke in. "Must I keep reminding everyone that you have only recently come out of bacta?"

As she spoke, she placed her hands over the site of Mi's wound – without asking – and closed her eyes as was her custom when using the Force. At first, Milo froze, hardly even seeming to breathe, though after a few moments he visibly relaxed and sat up, studying the Jedi. The "shiny" that Weave remembered used to flush and stammer in the presence of a pretty fem, but the man who sat before him regarded Tallis with calm interest.

Everything Milo had been through on Kamino had matured him in more ways than one.

When Tallis' eyes opened again, she seemed a little startled upon realizing she had an audience, but Milo only gave her a curious look. "Is everything okay? With the injury, I mean."

"You're healing very well," she replied, dropping her hands. "Weave mentioned that your bodies are designed to heal at a rapid rate."

Milo smiled at her. "I've always liked that part about being a clone."

"I imagine it has been rather convenient at times," Tallis said, all business as she glanced at Weave. "You have his chart?"

Weave handed it over without a word. At the Jedi's entrance, Tejaal had risen and moved to approach them; she stood with Kalinda and the two began to speak quietly. Zara stood nearby, watching her Master at work as she toyed with the hem of her beige tunic.

Before he could say anything, however, Tallis glanced at him, and he was startled to see agitation on her face. "May I have a private word?"

"Of course." They stepped away from the others and he tried not to notice that his heart rate had picked up speed, or how the morning light filtering in through the windows illuminated her freckles and cast her hair in a fiery glow.

She didn't speak at first, instead examining the datapad with what he recognized as an effort to buy some time. It was apparent, because her eyes weren't moving as if she was reading. Was she nervous, too? Strangely enough, the idea set him a bit more at ease.

"Is everything alright with Milo's chart?" he asked, hoping to urge her to speak. "I've only just started his therapy today, mostly to get a sense of how much he'll need before–"

"I never meant to imply that the work you do isn't valuable," she broke in, meeting his eyes at last. "My intent was to," she flushed, "compliment your abilities and indicate my gratitude for your presence on this mission. But I bungled it, and I'm sorry."

His own face was pretty kriffing warm, too, but he tried not to let it affect his judgment. "You didn't bungle anything. I was tired and stressed, and I jumped down your throat for no reason."

"You had every right to defend yourself. I should have been able to better relate to your perspective, but I was..." She dropped her eyes and took a deep breath. "Overwhelmed. You have affected me in ways I was unprepared for."

Later, Weave would examine the moment over and over in his memory, searching for some clue as to why he reached for her chin and brushed his fingertips against her smooth skin to draw her gaze back up to his. No amount of analysis would ever reveal an answer.

In that moment her breath caught but she did not resist his touch. Weave did not let his hand linger, but dropped it to his side immediately, and savored the way her pupils dilated when she regarded him with those blue eyes of hers.

"I know the feeling." He risked a small, careful smile.

She searched his gaze. Perhaps she was also testing him with the Force. Well, he had nothing to hide from her or anyone. "You do," she murmured after a moment, looking at him in bewilderment. "Don't you?"

His  _shabla_ face heated further, but he kept his eyes on hers and nodded once. "Yes, Honi."

To his delight, she flushed again and ducked her head, but he caught the trace of a smile, which both pleased and startled him, and pushed any feelings of jealously firmly out of his mind. He did manage to glance at Milo, and was relieved to see his brother was engrossed in conversation with Tejaal.

"Master Tallis?"

Weave glanced at the little Padawan, who now stood a few arm's lengths away, watching her Master with uncertainty. "Sorry to interrupt," Zara went on as Honi faced her. "Did you need me for anything? I wanted to work on the nanogene droids a bit more, before Levy gets back from training."

Honi shook her head. "Thank you, Zara, but I don't require your assistance."

Nodding, Zara slipped off, and Honi looked back at Weave, but he still watched the Padawan. "She's a good kid," he said to Honi once Zara was out of earshot. "And I know you weren't pleased she came along, but I think it's beneficial for Levy to have someone more or less his own age around. She's good with him."

"So I have seen."

Her tone was cool again, but Weave was inured at this point. Still, though, he tried to keep his voice steady and free of reprimand or judgment, because this really wasn't his place, for all that he couldn't help taking an interest. "From what I can tell she likes Levy a lot, but I think she would rather spend time with her Master."

Honi exhaled and crossed her arms before her, tucking the datapad under her shoulder. "Kalinda has said much the same thing."

"She would know better than me," Weave replied. "I've never had a Padawan."

He hadn't meant it as a joke, but she smiled anyway. It wasn't a broad smile, but it changed the shape of her face and made his heart pick up tempo again, more so when she directed it his way. It was an expression he thought he would like to see again.

* * *

_A few minutes earlier..._

Milo didn't understand what he was looking at until Weave touched her chin. That was when he marked the  _look_ in his brother's eyes and understood what was passing – or going to pass – between his  _vod_ and Honi Tallis. Weave wore an expression that Milo recognized; he'd seen it on Stonewall's face often enough. Honi had the look of a woman who  _wanted_ a man. This, too, was something Milo was familiar with, albeit indirectly.

One of the many side-effects of sharing another man's memories.

Maybe a different sort of man would have been annoyed with Weave, but Milo knew his brother too well. Weave was not one to take a step without first testing the stability of the ground beneath his boots. No doubt Weave's attraction to the Jedi was something that had formed while Milo had been absent.

So he released any lingering hope he might have had for the copper-haired Jedi. Yeah, she was pretty, but his  _vod_ deserved every bit of happiness.

 _Still_ , he thought with a sigh.  _I wouldn't mind some happiness, too._

The understanding of what love  _felt_ like was another, unanticipated side-effect of carrying Stonewall's memories. It was very strange to have felt romantic love without actually having experienced it for himself; sort of like being able to sing along with a song without knowing the words.

He flexed his left hand again and tried to ignore the prickling pain. Maybe it was his imagination, but he thought it got a little easier to move his fingers with each attempt, which was heartening.

"You're  _sure_ it's not too bad?"

Kali's voice made him look up, and he watched her watching his hand. This, too, was strange; to carry a feeling for someone else that you had not formed yourself. "It's not great," he admitted, because she would not relent until he did. "But it really isn't terrible. Not like your knee."

The words slipped out before he could stop them, and her eyes widened. "What...?"

Milo sighed again and looked back at his hand. "There's not one big memory," he said quietly, opening and closing his fingers. "Just a lot of smaller ones."

She placed her hand over his. "Are they..." She frowned. "Too much? Too disorientating? I'm afraid I don't quite understand how you must feel."

"It's weird," he admitted. "And yeah, sometimes it's kind of overwhelming. Sometimes I have to make sure it's really  _me_ feeling a feeling, and not one of his memories popping up."

"Do you think you could...transfer them to me?" she asked slowly. "Would that help?"

"I don't know how," he said, shaking his head. "And even if I did..." He paused, considering how to say what he wanted without offending her. "I'm afraid to lose them, and then, when we find him, he'd have to start almost from scratch. Kali, he gave these memories to me for safekeeping. I have no idea what would happen if I tried to...I dunno...give them to you, or someone else. All I know is I made a promise."

She squeezed his hand; he didn't feel it, but saw how her fingers moved. "It's alright, Mi. I understand. I'm not sure I could ever thank you enough for trying to help him like this."

Looking at her, Milo was reminded of all of Stonewall's fears for her and their child, but again...he didn't know what was okay to mention. "A lot of his memories were about him worrying that your knee hurt too much."

"He did that a lot." The warmth in her voice made him look up in surprise. It was a small smile that met him, but it still counted. "But it won't trouble me much longer," she went on, nodding to her knee. "I'm going to have it replaced, like I should have done years ago."

But she hadn't, because it was the only thing she had of...

Shab _. Her dad was her Master._ He hadn't known before, nor put the pieces together until now. There was so much he hadn't known; it felt a bit like he was cheating, now. Rather than reveal any of this knowledge, he nodded once. "I think that's a good plan. I think Stonewall will be glad when he learns of it."

He spoke in the present tense deliberately, and she seemed to approve, as evidenced by the way her eyes crinkled even though her mouth was quiet. "I'll be off my feet for a while," she went on, leaning beside him on the exam table, "and have a month or so of physical therapy, but I think it'll be worth it. It's best to get it over with soon, before the baby gets much farther along."

"We can do PT together. Well," he amended, "maybe not. You'll only have one good leg and I'll only have one good arm."

"Just for a little while."

That was true. He smiled. "Yeah. Soon we'll both be good as new."

"Better, in your case, Master Jedi," a new voice said. A young Arunai woman had approached, datapad in hand, pale blue eyes resting upon the Jedi. Like the other medical staff, she wore an emerald green lab coat. White hair, woven into dozens of slender braids, was coiled into a neat bun at the nape of her neck, and her skin was the rich color of cinnamon.

It took Milo a moment to recall her name: Tejaal. She was the lead physician when Upala wasn't around. When she smiled, her cheeks bunched up, making her face seem round and soft, a trend that was continued along the rest of her form.

"Everything has been arranged," Tejaal went on, still addressing Kali. "Your surgery is scheduled for three days from now. Do you have any questions?"

"Not at the moment." Kali's lips quirked. "Honi's done a thorough job of informing me of what to expect."

Tejaal's eyes closed briefly, but her tone was polite. "Knight Tallis has been rather...involved in the planning process. Though, I must admit, I am curious to see exactly how her Force-abilities will come into play. It's difficult for me to imagine such a thing."

"What do you mean?" Milo heard himself ask.

Both women turned to him, but Tejaal answered. "To mitigate any danger from the anesthesia, Knight Tallis is planning on using  _morichro_ to keep Kalinda unconscious during the procedure."

"It's what she did to keep you stable on the way here from Kamino," Kali added.

At this, Tejaal regarded Milo with furrowed, pale brows. "I didn't realize that. So it does work."

Milo chuckled. "You can say that again. I have no memory of that journey, or pretty much anything until I woke up here."

She pursed her lips as if in consideration, and he couldn't help but notice that they, too, looked full and soft, especially covered in something pink and shiny. "Do you remember getting injured?"

He glanced down at his almost useless left hand and rubbed at the base of his fingers. "I wish I didn't."

In so many more ways than one. Suddenly the room held no warmth; even the intriguing color of Tejaal's mouth wasn't enough to keep his attention. Stonewall was out there, somewhere. Was he angry? Scared? Was he alone? Did he know how much he was missed?

He was shaken out of these thoughts when Tejaal placed a cinnamon-colored hand on his upper-arm. "You'll be good as new soon," she said, offering him a smile. "And all of this will just be another unpleasant memory."

Her hand was warm and soft, but so small compared to his. What would it be like to cup it between his palms? He met her eyes and found he was able to return the smile. "I'll have some nice memories, too."

The faint, dark flush that appeared on her cheeks startled him at first, but it was a fleeting feeling when he noticed how her hand did not lift from his arm until after a few seconds too long.

One of Stonewall's memories bubbled to the surface of his mind. He was seated with Kali beside a campfire, somewhere. She'd taken Stonewall's hand, and although the touch itself had not been familiar, Stonewall had recognized the intent behind it, startling him. He'd wanted to touch her, too, but had not been sure of her reaction. Being close to a woman had still been strange in many ways.

But no longer.

Milo thought back to Coraux and his own memories of Beryl, the girl he'd danced with. His  _vode_ had said  _liked_ him. Did Tejaal like him too?

To test his theory, he decided to take a chance. "What is that on your lips? It's a neat color."

"Oh." She flushed again, but she also smiled. "It's just some gloss I picked up. I'm not sure if it works with my skin tone."

"It does. At least, I like it on you. I doubt it'd look as pretty on me."

He had no fardling clue what "gloss" was, other than some kind of cosmetic, but he didn't much care, because her resulting laugh told him he'd said exactly the right thing. An odd mixture of satisfaction, amusement, and anticipation coiled within him, and he grinned.

Something chirruped. Milo had been so focused on Tejaal, he'd nearly forgotten Kali was there, too. She withdrew her comlink, glanced at it, then met Milo's eyes. "Sita has a free moment, and there are a couple things I'd like to speak to her about. Will you be okay here?"

There was concern in her voice, but there was also a trace of teasing, though he could not fathom why. He was  _fine_. More or less.

He kept his reply equally light. "I'm good, Kali. Thanks."

Before she rushed off, she placed a swift kiss against his cheek. "Thank you," she said quietly. "For everything."

Milo didn't need to ask what she meant. She moved toward Weave and Honi, who were still speaking a few paces away, then hurried from the room. When Milo glanced back at Tejaal, she gave him another, thoughtful look, though her next words were neutral.

"I should get back to work. Please let me know if you need anything else."

Nodding, he held up his left hand. "Will do. Maybe we can have a bout of arm wrestling later, after some one-handed pushups?"

"Now, that I'd like to see." She lifted a pale brow. "Once you're all healed, of course."

He couldn't help but grin again. "Of course."

Although Tejaal gave him a chiding look, her laughter rang out brightly around him. It was answer, enough.

* * *

_Later..._

That evening, Crest found himself in Sita's garden. He hadn't intended on heading here; he'd been hoping to find Kali and speak to her about The Dregs clones, but she'd not been in the makeshift medbay like he'd anticipated. According to Weave and Tallis, she'd gone to meet with Sita, and according to the stoic guard captain, Her Majesty was in her  _private_  garden. This was emphasized by a severe, narrow-eyed look from beneath the captain's helmet, though he did not stop Crest from entering said garden through a wrought-duranium gate.

True dark had not yet fallen. Twilight hung over the rhododendrons and climbing jasmine, bathing every tree, flower and shrub in soft blue light, though the air was still thick from the heat of the day. The buzzing song of aphrens overrode the infrequent chirrup of birds, and something citrusy and sweet bloomed nearby.

It would be easy to get lost in the winding pathways between trees and bushes, so Crest stood at the garden's entrance and peered through the myriad plants, hoping to spot Kali or Sita right away. He couldn't see either, so took a few steps further into the garden until he was surrounded by green, growing things.

"Who's there?"

It was not his Jedi's voice, and Crest's stomach did the uncomfortable, flipping dance it did when he was in Sita's presence. It had nothing to do with her being royalty. "It's Crest," he called, turning toward the sound of the voice. "I'm looking for Kali."

"She just left." Sita's reply was immediate, but there was an unusual tremble to her lilting words. He took another step and peered through a trio of shadderjee trees, and saw the queen of Aruna seated upon a stone bench, toying with the hem of her blue and lavender shimmersilk dress. She was still, and seemed to blend in with the twilight falling swiftly around them. Her hair, though, glowed like moonstone; a beacon in the darkness.

 _Snap out of it,_ di'kut, Crest scolded himself as he approached her. "Do you know where she went? I feel like I've been chasing her through the whole palace."

"I believe she was returning to the," Sita's brow creased, "makeshift medbay? Is that what you have named it?"

Crest chuckled. "Yeah." His stupid,  _shabla_ heart leaped when she smiled at him, but it was a fleeting expression, and she looked back at her dress.

He didn't have to be a Jedi to know something was wrong, but he should leave it be. She wasn't for him. She had never been, and pretending otherwise would only bring trouble for the both of them. Yes,  _both_. He'd seen how she looked at him yesterday at the training-ground. He didn't know much, but he'd made a point to recognize the admiring gaze of a fem when it was directed his way.

But that didn't matter.  _Couldn't_. He needed to leave. He should bid her goodnight, turn, and put more distance between them. There was already an entire galaxy's worth, all things considered. A few more steps would hardly make a difference.

Instead he asked, "Are you alright?"

Perhaps she'd not been aware of how stricken she looked, for she straightened and was suddenly  _Queen Hari_ again. "I am well, thank you."

Crest took another step forward, studying her. There; the way her breath caught, the way her pulse quickened. Something wasn't right. "Don't take this the wrong way, Sita, but you're full of bantha shit."

Immediately upon the words leaving his mouth, he wanted to disappear into the growing shadows. Fek, had he really just said  _that_  to the kriffing  _queen_ of this planet? Fekking hell, he was an effing  _di'kut_. A huge one. Heat washed through his whole body and he tensed, half-expecting Captain Overprotective to pop out of the shrubbery and throw him in cuffs.

But she only looked at him again, then, to his astonishment – and relief – she chuckled. "I suppose I am." She scooted over on the bench and patted the empty space. "Will you sit with me a moment?"

 _Leave now,_ his better sense urged.  _Turn and walk the kriff away. If you stay, it will only end badly._

He sat. Neither spoke at first as they listened to the coming night noises that filtered through the surrounding trees. The wind teased his scalp and the fluttering edges of her dress, and the air was redolent with jasmine.

Finally she exhaled. "Kali told me of her plans for knee-replacement surgery."

"Yeah, she's weirdly excited about it," Crest replied, shaking his head. "I guess I can understand she's pleased about how it'll be after, but all I can think about is going under the knife." He shuddered.

"It sounds as if she's taken every precaution. Upala has recommended an excellent surgeon, and I have been assured that Knight Tallis is capable of keeping any pain at a minimum while the operation takes place. Kalinda said she wanted to avoid anesthesia if at all possible." Sita was silent a moment, then glanced down at her hands. "I hadn't known she was pregnant."

Oh. Oh,  _shab._ The idea had not occurred to him to mention it, or, fek, even  _think_ of it. Crest suffered a small bout of internal debate before sighing and leaning forward, bracing his hands at his sides while he dug the toe of his left boot into the grass.

"I'm sorry." Hopefully that was the right thing to say.

Sita toyed with the thin, gold bracelets at her wrists and did not look his way. "I am glad for her, truly, but at the same time I am reminded of my own shortcomings."

"You're not–"

But she halted his words with a hand on his knee, effectively shutting off all logical train of thought as well. "I know what you would say, and you are kind to say it, but the reality is I am not enough; to rule, or to live this life that I chose. I should be grateful the gods have presented me with a solution, but..."

She squeezed her hands into fists, tucked them into her lap, and looked away from him. Crest tried, fek, he  _tried_  to steel himself against the quiet sniffing sounds, but he was a weak and foolish man – especially in her presence.

It was so easy to wrap his arm around her slender shoulders and hug her to his side. So easy to lean his head against hers – ignoring the press of her golden headdress – and kiss her temple. Kriff, she was warm and soft in all the right places, and his stupid,  _shabla_ heart ached when she leaned into him. "It's okay," he murmured into her moonstone-colored hair. "Or at least it will be."

She tilted her head and inhaled; he savored the rise and fall of her body. When she looked up, she was close enough for him to feel the breath from her lips as she spoke. "I've missed you."

"Kriff, Sita, you have no idea."

The urge to kiss her was unrelenting. This time he surrendered.

Almost a year had passed since they'd shared a few kisses in this garden. It was a memory that had sustained Crest through many long days – and lonely nights – so he thought he would have perfectly recalled the taste of her, the scent of her skin and the way her body molded itself to his.

He was wrong.

Soft and sweet, yes, but there was a fire within her, and it spread through his body, through his spirit, and pushed away all other thoughts. Her lips parted and he delved deep, unable to stop himself; a starving man before a spreading feast. She moaned; this, too, he consumed. His hands tangled at the nape of her neck and her headdress toppled to the ground.

The gentle  _thunk_ and jingling of metal pulled him out of his haze and he drew back, blinking in the fading light, half-drunk with desire. Her pale blue eyes fixed upon his, her pupils were blown wide and dark. Her breath was short.

"Crest..."

 _What the fek is wrong with me?_ "Sita."

She reached for his hands and he allowed her to take them, though his heart slammed against his ribcage and his stomach roiled; he would have to break this bond soon enough. But his traitor-heart pleaded,  _just a moment more._

"I've often thought of you," she murmured. "When I would hear something that made me laugh, or while I was just sitting here. Or..." Her cheeks darkened and she trailed off.

Crest took a deep, steadying breath and slipped his left hand free of hers, though he could not stop himself from touching her flushing cheek. "I've thought of you, too."

A smile broke over her face. "Have you?"

"Once or twice – a day. An hour, sometimes." He sighed again and dropped his hand. "Look, I know it's hard to believe, but I'm a pretty practical guy. I know that it was – it  _is –_ a fantasy."

"It's not a fantasy if it is taking place." She reached for his hand, but he drew it away. "There is something here," she said, meeting his eyes. "I'm not imagining it, am I?"

"No." He skimmed his hand over his head. Kriff. Why was it so  _shabla_ hard to say what he needed to say? "I'm just a clone–"

"I don't care–"

"It's not something I could forget, even if the galaxy would ever let me," he went on, ignoring her interruption. "If anything, this last week has shown me just how  _nothing_ the Republic considers me and my brothers. But Sita," he met her gaze, "I have never been more aware of what I am than when I'm with you. You talked about a breach between castes...well, between you and me, there's a kriffing galaxy."

The smile that had appeared – because of him – died. Also because of him. Fek, he was a karking moron. But he was still right.

Her voice was a whisper. "Crest..."

"For the record, I wouldn't change a thing about you, and only a couple about myself," he added. "But I can't, and you can't, and it's just not supposed to be."

He set her hands aside and got to his feet, and stepped away from her. "I'm sorry, Sita."

She said his name again. He should not have paused, nor looked back at her, seated in the twilight, surrounded by shadows, but he did. And he regretted it more when he saw how her eyes were wet.

"I want to change things here." She stood up, ignoring her fallen headdress and approaching him. The queen of this world took his hand, and Force help him, he let her, if only so that her warmth would surround him just a moment more. "It won't always be this way. We could make it work."

"Did Badal say that to you?"

Crest had not meant the words to wound, but they struck true anyway. The evidence was in the widening of her pale blue eyes and the parted "o" of her lips. Cool air brushed against his hand, for she'd let go.

No battle, no mission had been as difficult as this. He steeled himself for her anger, shoring up his mental armor before speaking again. "If you let yourself be with me, you'll be making the same mistake he did. I can't let you do that. I'm sorry."

There. He'd said what needed to be said. Crest knew when his part was done, and it was easier to leave if she was silent, anyway. Without waiting for a response, he turned away and hurried down the nearest path. It was the way he'd come. He didn't think he would return.

* * *

_Later..._

It was full dark by the time Traxis found a moment alone. This day, like the others before it, had been spent "training" – he used the word loosely – the clones they'd rescued from The Dregs. It could have been worse. Aside from a few  _shabuire_  they weren't a bad lot. Besides, he liked being busy, liked having his attention and energy diverted toward a goal he could work toward, rather than something – some _one_  – he would never see again.

Two someones, maybe. They might never find Stonewall. Apparently Kali had contacted one of her Jedi friends to help track him down, but Trax was not about to cling to hope.

He climbed the final steps to the rooftop training-ground, anticipating the view and the cool kiss of wind. The others, including the rest of his  _vode,_ were happily ensconced in the clones' quarters, but it'd been a long couple of days and he'd been craving solitude.

So he was not sure what to think when he heard the familiar  _snap-hiss_ of an igniting lightsaber. No, two sabers. Trax quickened his steps.

He saw the weapons' glow before the woman wielding them; brilliant blue, shining yellow, both arcing in perfect circles against the glittering backdrop of the city. Their humming song was one he'd not heard in a while, or at least it felt that way. Thinking back, he realized it hadn't been longer than just over a week, though it felt like more time had passed. He stood just beyond the stairwell and leaned against the wall, and watched his Jedi _-vod._

It was the nature of many of Shadow Squad's missions to serve with all sorts of folk, many of them Force-users. Traxis had worked with a fair number of Jedi, more than most clones serving on the front lines. He knew Kali was not a skilled fighter, at least not like General Kenobi or General Windu. Bum knee notwithstanding, she simply wasn't very talented. She stumbled over her feet, she had no mind for strategy in battle, her movements were often sloppy.

He knew all of these things, but when she swept both blades in a crescent around her body, he forgot them and his breath caught. She turned, leaped forward in one controlled motion, landed, and turned again. Blue and yellow tracers swam in his vision. The glow caught in flashes on her hair, in her dark eyes, in the gleaming hem of her silk tunic. Now Kali's steps were slow and deliberate, evidence that she was fighting through the pain of her knee, but she was a Jedi, and even at her worst, she was more graceful than Traxis could ever hope to be. She was barefoot, thus silent. Only the blades' hum reached to him through the night air, calling him closer.

When he was about ten paces away, she paused and faced him, the sabers hanging at her sides, her chest heaving. Her hair had begun to drift free of its braid, and perspiration gleamed on her forehead.

"Trax? Is everything alright?" The blue blade tilted and moved upward as she swiped sweat off her face with the back of her hand.

He folded his arms across his chest. "You're going to decapitate yourself."

She laughed. "If I had a credit for every time I heard that..." Still, she deactivated both blades and clipped them to her belt, which was an odd sight against the Arunai tunic and pants she'd taken to wearing. "What's up?"

He shrugged and looked at the city. The lightsabers' glow had stolen his night-vision, but it was already starting to return. "Just wanted a minute away from Misfit Squad."

"I wouldn't mind a break, either," she replied, fluttering the hem of her tunic to let in the night air. She tilted her head in silent invitation, and they moved to the balcony of the training-ground to better see the view. Rudral lay before them, lit by thousands of lightpoles and civilians' homes; the palace sat on a fairly high hill, so there wasn't much in the way of sound. Just a quietly illuminated city and the mountains beyond. There was no moon tonight.

Neither spoke at first. Traxis leaned his forearms against the wall, considering. Yeah, he'd wanted to be alone, but he found his gaze drawn to her again and again, a question on the tip of his tongue.  _Don't effing bother,_ he told himself.  _Even if you could get a hold of him, it won't make a difference. He left._

But he should have known better. She  _was_ a Jedi. "Trax...why did Ares return my sabers?"

Like his, her gaze was fixed elsewhere, the tilt of her chin indicating it was upon the stars. Traxis sighed and glanced at his folded hands, high, high above the city. "It was the right choice."

"He said that?"

"Not in so many words," Traxis admitted.

Kali turned to him, sweeping over him with her dark eyes in a way that made him think she could peer right through his head, into the darkest corners of his mind. Fek, she was Human, of course, and he'd seen her broken before, but now there was a... _bigness_ to her, an otherness he could not quantify. When she looked at him, he had no idea what she saw. Sometimes it was unnerving. Had it been like that for Stonewall?

"Did you pay him in some other way?" she asked quietly.

He scowled at her. "What the fek–"

"Because he made it very clear that he would not help us for free," she went on, interrupting him. "And he was involved with Cad Bane. I don't know what that means, but I'd wager it's not good. And he left without saying goodbye."

"Not to me." Traxis ground his teeth the moment the words escaped. He hadn't meant for them to.  _Fek._

"Ares refused any kind of payment," he added after a beat, silently cursing the flush creeping across his face and thankful it was dark and she – hopefully – couldn't see. "Though I think he'll regret giving back those kriffing sabers when Bane catches up with him."

Her forehead creased and she touched one of the sabers at her belt. "I hope not. I liked him."

"You and me both,  _vod._ "

It may have been a trick of his eyes, but he thought he saw the corner of her mouth twitch like she was about to smile. But she began digging through her belt, withdrawing her comlink a few moments later and handing it to him. "Sita gave me another one I've been using," she said as he accepted. "This still has Ares' comm-code. If anyone were to, say, drop him a message, just to check on him, I'd be grateful. He did us a good service, after all."

Traxis shoved the device in the pocket of his fatigues without looking. "Copy that."

She rested her chin upon her folded arms, leaning on the wall before them. "My surgery is the day after tomorrow. Hopefully Quin will arrive soon after; he's in the middle of a mission and couldn't give me an exact date."

"Quin... Is that your Jedi pal?"

Kali nodded. "He's psychometric." At Trax's frown she elaborated. "He can...sense people's thoughts and emotions by touching objects they've touched."

More Force-weirdness. But it would have to do. As far as Traxis could see, there weren't many other options. "Think it'll work?"

"I've known Quinlan Vos a long time – almost as long as Obi-Wan. If anyone will be able to give us some clues about where Stonewall has gone, it's him."

Traxis was silent a moment, studying the distant mountains. "It's a big galaxy."

"Sometimes." She sighed and patted his arm as she turned to go. "I'm going to call it a night."

He didn't offer any parting words, just watched her cross the training-ground, ensuring she made it safely to the exit. Jedi or not, she was still someone he needed to protect. By now his night-vision had returned fully, so he was able to make out her dark hair up until she descended the stairs.

Only when she disappeared completely did he pull out the comlink. It took him a few minutes of searching to call up Ares' code, and another few more before he activated the link, voice-only. He waited.

And waited.

No response. Frowning, Traxis studied the comlink, but as far as he could see, the device was working properly on his end. Which meant...

_Shab._

Sure, Ares could be sleeping, or in the 'fresher, or simply uninterested in answering. But Trax's mind went to the dozen worst-case-scenarios, and fear tightened in his heart.


	37. Chapter Thirty-Six

A/N: A new-ish POV in this chapter. It's one we've seen once before, but that was a loooong time ago. Also, keep in mind that this story is AU; it hasn't been so much, so far, but from here on out you'll start to see more evidence of its divergence from canon.

Lyrics: ["Spies," by Coldplay, from  _Parachutes._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gxXKRpSnTPg&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp&index=37)

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Six**

_I awake to find no peace of mind._

_I said, how do you live as a fugitive?_

_Down here, where I cannot see so clear._

_I said, what do I know?_

_Show me the right way to go._

Someone nearby dropped a hydrospanner. Not an unusual occurrence in a bustling hangar, but the echoing clang made Ares' stomach twist with nerves. He cast as casual a glance as he could manage over his shoulder, but of course there was nothing suspicious, just as there hadn't been in the days since leaving Aruna. Still, he took a deep breath to steady his roiling gut, and looked back at the technician, bent over the open panel of the  _Raven's_ left nacelle.

"How much longer?" Ares asked. The Wookiee replied in a series of whuffs and growls that took Ares a moment to decipher, and when he did, he frowned. "Four more hours? You said this would be an easy patch-and-go job, but I've been waiting nearly half a day."

Another growl, this one accompanied by a narrowing of the Wookiee's eyes before she turned her attention back to the ship. That, it seemed, signaled the end of the interaction. Very well. Ares exhaled and glanced around Hosk Station, searching for the nearest credit-transfer booth; there, toward the hangar's entrance, barely visible between the swarm of travelers passing through the Mid Rim outpost.

He put his eyes on the  _Raven_ once more before making his way to the booth. Rather, he  _tried_ to make his way, but it was rough going with so many beings milling about the hangar. Barely three steps away from his ship and a Bothan stepped on his boot, while an Iridonian family smacked into his shoulder. None offered an apology of any kind, only hurried for one of the dozens of shuttles scattered throughout the hangar.

Hosk Station, orbiting the planet of Kalarba, was one of the designated harbors of the Refugee Resettlement Coalition, and as such was host to the stream of lifeforms Ares had had to fight through. As best he could tell, most who had found their own homes torn apart by the Wars fled through similar ports, seeking a shelter from the galactic-wide storm.

The only semblance of order came from the Republic soldiers tasked with overseeing the loading of each transports. Among the sea of species of all kinds, the clones' gleaming white armor – striped with blue, which Ares had not seen before – stood out rather clearly, and Ares found his eyes drawn their way more than once as he crossed the hangar. It was foolish, he knew, to think of Traxis now, but alas...

None of soldiers seemed to notice him, however, which was probably for the best. In the midst of this chaos was a good place to disappear, at least for a little while.

A smooth, synthetic voice wafted above the bustle. "All travelers departing for Alderaan, please report to Hangar Bay Besh. The Refugee Resettlement Coalition reminds you that no weapons are permitted aboard designated shuttles, and asks that all younglings be accompanied by an adult."

The message was repeated in Basic, Huttese, Pak Pak, and several other languages Ares could not immediately discern as he darted through the fray. By the time he reached the credit-transfer booth, he'd been stepped on three more times,  _and_ a Selonian had nearly clawed his right _lek_  in an attempt to dodge a dangerous-looking fellow in dark gray armor.

By some miracle, the booth was unoccupied. Ares ducked inside, slid the curtain closed, and rubbed his poor  _lek._ A necessary casualty of haste, sadly. Well, he'd needed to blend in; he'd certainly picked the right place.

It took him a moment to call up his account information on the screen. The figure that greeted him was expected, but his stomach still sank. Even with the few jobs he'd picked up since leaving Aruna, the sum wouldn't be enough to pay Bane. There was also the issue of the extra ten percent cut Bane had demanded, a figure which was now, unfortunately, zero, given that Ares had returned his payment. It was doubtful Bane would be understanding.

 _Stupid._ Ares ground his teeth and stared at the screen, though the numbers swam before his vision. He should never have given back those kriffing sabers. Damn his foolish, soft nature.

But there was nothing for it, now. Upon hearing that Bane had been spending most of his time lately in the Core, Ares decided to avoid that particular region, just in case, and focus on gathering as much money together as he could. And really, he wasn't  _that_ far away; surely another few weeks, and he'd have it. Of course, to earn credits, he needed a working ship, but the coolant hose had broken loose at last – taking a few other essential components with it – and Ares was not skilled enough to repair this particular problem. Thus the necessity of dealing with the cantankerous – and unusually slow-moving – Wookiee.

Ares checked his chrono. He had hours to fill; he wasn't hungry, but his stores of caf were dangerously low and there were a few other items from the trading post that would be useful.

This in mind, he cleared his information out of the console and stepped outside the booth, where the muzzle of a blaster pressed into his stomach. Glowing crimson eyes, shaded by a wide-brimmed hat, locked onto his, and Cad Bane smiled.

"Fancy meetin' you here, Tabora."

 _Kriff_. Every muscle tensed before Ares slowly began to raise his hands.

But Bane gave a low growl of irritation. "Keep 'em down. I don't wanna draw anyone's attention."

The muzzle pressed closer with enough force to push Ares back into the booth, all the way against the far corner. Though no taller than Ares, Bane loomed over him, filling every inch of Ares' vision. In the small space, the scent of cigarras and tibanna ebbing off of the Duros was strong enough to sting Ares' eyes. It was impossible to take a proper breath, especially with the air suddenly hot and stifling.

Only when they were ensconced behind the curtain did Bane speak again. "You're late."

There was no kriffing way this was going to end well, but Ares tried to postpone the inevitable. Admittedly, he was also quite curious. "How did you find me?"

"I got eyes everywhere. Don't you know that? Now," Bane pressed the muzzle closer, "about my creds..."

Ares took a deep breath. "You have my apologies, but–"

"'But' ain't somethin'  _I'm_  interested in," Bane broke in. "Only credits. You remember our agreement, don't ya?"

The pressure of the muzzle increased, such that Ares was certain he'd have a second navel when this was over. Assuming he lived to look in a mirror again. There was a small security cam embedded in the console; even if the cam was functioning, even if some concerned party was watching on the other end, it was unlikely they'd be able to respond in time.

Both  _lekku_ twitched. Sweat began to roll down his back but he managed to keep his voice calm. "I have partial payment. You can have all of it now, if you give me a little more time to collect the rest."

Bane's eyes narrowed a fraction, though the slit of his mouth curved into a faint smile. "I'd rather have that ship of yours."

 _No. Please, no._ "Just another few days," Ares managed. "Please."

The blaster lifted; Ares savored its absence for a second before Bane smirked in earnest. "Nah."

It happened too fast for Ares to measure. One flick of the Duros' wrist allowed him to simultaneously reverse his grip on the weapon and draw his hand back, and the last thing Ares saw was the butt of Bane's blaster on an arc toward his head. Then, darkness.

* * *

_Meanwhile..._

Captain Rex waved the next group of civvies onto the shuttle, though his attention was only partially on his task due to the flashing icon in the corner of his HUD. A few blinks called up the incoming transmission. "What's the status of our package?"

"Taking his sweet- _shebs_ time getting off his kriffing shuttle," Fives replied. "Fek. How much luggage does one fellow  _need_? Last time I checked, they have clothes on Corrie, even for Seppie turncoats."

They were on a private comm-channel, but Rex still narrowed his eyes. "Cut the unnecessary chatter,  _vod._ What's your ETA?"

"Fek if I know."

"Fives."

Fives gave a drawn-out sigh that crackled through Rex's helmet. "I dunno, Rex. Ten minutes? Maybe less if I cross my arms. I'm told I look  _very_ threatening when I cross my arms."

"Just get it done – but don't antagonize him, for kriff's sake. The general's trusting us to deliver him safely and  _quietly_ ; we don't want to give the package any reason to change his mind and back out."

The ARC trooper chuckled. "I think we're past that point,  _vod._  He's already defected–"

One of Rex's patented, captainly throat-clears cut off Fives' words. Rex allowed a few weighted moments to pass before speaking. "Comm me when your team is escorting him to the RV point."

"Copy that, Captain Rex,  _sir_ ," Fives replied, though his tone was a little  _too_ official. Rex knew when he was being mocked, but he let it slide. It'd been a long couple of weeks, after all.

Rex signed off and oriented his full attention back to the task at hand, nodding to the next group waiting to board, a trio of furry Selonians. After these, the shuttle would be at capacity, so he gave Tup a signal to block off the rest of the refugees in line until the next shuttle arrived. This earned him a few muttered swears from the waiting civvies, but nothing more serious. They weren't pleased at the clones' presence, but no one seemed inclined to do anything more than curse and shoot dirty looks Rex's way.

Civvy traffic control was simple stuff, really, but it was necessary to justify Torrent Company's presence on Hosk Station, and the Refugee Resettlement Coalition had agreed to allow the Republic troops to help.

General Skywalker and the Chancellor had arranged the whole thing; all Rex and his men had to do was see that Passel Argente was transferred safely into Republic custody. Even accounting for the high stakes of escorting the Separatist defector to Coruscant, the mission was a relative blue milk run.

Which was a good thing, as Torrent was still recovering from the losses on Umbara. Other troops had been brought in to supplement the company's numbers, but they were basically shinies. And even if they'd been battle-hardened soldiers, nothing could fill the void Umbara had created. General Skywalker and Ahsoka had done their best, naturally. But the darkness lingered in the back of Rex's mind.

Another incoming transmission caught his attention, and he blinked into his HUD to open the channel. "What's up, Jess?"

"We've got a situation, sir."

Rex frowned. "Serious?"

"Er..." Jesse paused. "Hard to say. I think you should come to mine and Hardcase's coordinates. Bring Coric or Kix, too. There's a wounded civvy."

Though Jesse was not often the most solemn of troopers, he was a good soldier and better man, and Rex trusted his  _vod_. This, at least, was the one constant in his life. His brothers. "Copy that, Jess," he said, signaling Tup that he'd be right back. "I'm on my way."

After a brief stop to collect Kix, Rex found himself in one of the nearby hangars, where the process of loading civilians onto transports was being repeated. If anything, this hangar was more crowded than the one where Rex had come from, and for a moment he couldn't find Jess or Hardcase, HUD be damned.

"There," Kix said, indicating a credit-transfer booth across the hangar. Rex and the medic darted through the sea of civvies, reaching the other troopers a few minutes later. The clones had managed to cordon off the space immediately before the booth, though barely, given the insistent press of beings. A male Twi'lek lay upon the ground, coat spread behind him, coral-colored  _lekku_ bent at odd angles, and there was a rather nasty gash on his temple.

Kix was already pulling out his medkit before he reached the Twi'lek's side. "Is he alive?" Rex asked.

"Yeah, just knocked out." Hardcase indicated a small pile of metallic bits and pieces. "We think he lost a fight; his comlink's all smashed up."

Rex nodded and glanced back at the medic. "Do you need help?"

"No, sir," Kix replied as he pressed an antiseptic pad to the wound. "Just keep the area clear while I try to wake him up."

Indeed, after getting the Twi'lek upright, leaning his back against the booth, and tapping his cheeks, the fellow's eyes opened. At first he only blinked a few times as if trying to clear his head, then winced as if he were in pain.

Rex knelt beside the Twi'lek and pulled off his bucket. "Are you alright?"

The Twi'lek stared at him, mouth open, then nodded once. "I...yes, I believe so."

"What's your name?"

"Tabora," he replied, wincing as Kix smoothed a bacta patch over his temple. "Efficient as your fellows, I see."

An odd thing to say, but Rex let it slide. "Did you see who did this to you?"

"I did, but..." Tabora's eyes widened and he swore, jumping to his feet and nearly knocking Kix over in the process. "My ship," he said, glancing in one direction as Rex stood as well. "Where is she? Where is the  _Raven_?"

Some of the other civvies had cleared out by now, so Rex and the others looked in the same direction, and saw...

An empty hangar.

 _Shab_. Rex glanced back at the civvy. Now, Tabora's expression darkened; it was not quite a frown, not quite a scowl, but it did not bode well. His  _lekku_ twitched and his hands clenched into fists, and he let loose a string of virulent swears in several languages, only some of which Rex recognized. Rex exchanged glances with his men; none of them seemed to know quite what to say or do. And none of them really had time for this.

"Sir," Rex broke in, "would you like one of us to escort you to the Port Authority? I'm sure they can–"

He was cut off by a horrific boom that shuddered through the entire hangar with enough force to send himself – and everyone around him – to their knees. Civvies screamed and began to swarm for the exits. Without his bucket, Rex registered the temp change as a bloom of heat that swept out of the eastern corridor, though thank the Force there were no flames. One of his men swore, but all of them recovered instantly, scrambling upright and readying their weapons, while Rex shoved his helmet on once more.

Before he could begin barking orders, his HUD alerted him to a transmission from Fives. "He's kriffing dead!"

Rex's stomach dropped to his knees. He knew, but had to confirm. "Who..."

"Our fekking package," Fives snarled. "I tried to get him to hurry; he got uppity and told me and my men to get off his ship and let him be, so we did. I mean, we were  _right_ by his ship; there was  _no_ effing way someone could have tampered with it. But the next thing I know, the fardling thing's lit up like Corrie on Republic Day."

Biting back a swear of his own, Rex tried to keep his calm. "Your team...?"

"Two dead; Cato and Dust were caught in the blast," Fives said grimly. "Blackout and Pliny got away, but barely. The fire crew's here. Kriff it all, Rex..."

"I know." Rex glanced at Jess, Kix and Hardcase, whose visors were fixed on him. "I'm sending some troopers your way. We've got to keep the civilians from panicking any more, and figure out who did this."

After Fives' acknowledgment, Rex signed off and signaled to his men to assist Fives and what remained of his team. The hangar buzzed with frightened civilians, many of whom had decided to rush the transports in lieu of rushing the exits.

So much for civvy traffic control being  _simple._

Rex glanced at Tabora, who stood with his back pressed to the booth. "Mr. Tabora, I advise you to clear the area and get to safety."

The Twi'lek's coral-colored skin had paled considerably, but at Rex's words he nodded and slipped off. Rex didn't watch him go. He had work to do.

* * *

_Minutes ago..._

Shadow watched the clones that stood before the Seppie's ship.

Why the fek were Republic soldiers guarding a Sep? Prisoner transport? Protection detail? What the kriff was going on?

Four regular grunts and – if the kit and swagger were anything to go by – an ARC trooper. Shadow didn't have access to their comm-channels, so he couldn't hear their voices, but the way they stood, the way their buckets inclined toward one another made him think they were talking amongst themselves. About what? The mission was the most likely guess, but perhaps they had post-mission plans. Probably a trip to the mess and a hot shower. Maybe a few rounds of sabacc.

Laughter filtered through his mind; an echo of a memory. For one moment, he could  _feel_ thin sabacc cards in his hands, hear the sound of other voices, his but not, surrounding him... Then the feeling drifted away, as if snagged from his grasp by a current of air.

Heedless of their observer, the other clones gesticulated – only slightly, as they were on duty – but Shadow recognized the casual motions of hands and shoulders. Banter was probably being exchanged on those closed comm-channels.

While he stood alone, surrounded by darkness and filled with a void.

Yes, he had orders. No doubt they did as well, for all of his own ignorance. But they also had each other. What did he have?

 _Nothing_.

Beneath his own bucket, Shadow clenched his jaw. He was spec ops, a breed apart from the men that stood so close, but were as far away from him as the outermost edges of Wild Space. It was not his place – or purpose – to work with other clones. Had it ever been? Before, perhaps, but trying to cast his memory down that flimsy line was futile, so he shucked the thought away before it had a chance to grow.

Shadow turned his mind to the present; he had a job to do. His mission parameters had not changed. If the other clones got in the way, then so be it. There was probably more going on here than he knew. He had shown mercy once, and was no better off in the three weeks since he'd left Milo alive. He'd depleted his supply of feks to give.

And from that anger beating through his blood, he drew strength and focus. It was a simple thing to cloak himself in the Force, slip past the ARC and his grunts, and enter the Sep's ship. Four dets were more than enough to obliterate the thing, but he dropped twice that, scattering a few near the ship's loading ramp, closest to the clones who stood outside. No matter how close you stood to another, everyone was alone in their final moments. He'd seen proof of that in Tibor's eyes. These men would learn what it was to be on their own, as he had.

The thought left him hollow, so he turned his attention to adjusting the timer on the final det before leaving.

In and out in three minutes.

Easy.

Shadow exited the ship as as he'd entered: undetected. By the time the chaos and fire took over, he was safely away. Argente was dead; it was time to leave Hosk Station and head to his next check-in.

But something urged him to remain. Within the sheltering layers of his unique armor, he would not be recognized as a clone, and as long as he didn't run or do anything else to draw attention to himself, he would not be marked as the one who'd caused trouble. There was no better place to hide than in plain sight. He stood outside a 'fresher, leaning against the wall as if waiting for someone, and watched the clones scramble to contain the damage. The explosion had effectively shut down the transports' departures, which meant the soldiers had a station full of angry, frightened civilians on their hands.

Shadow's ship had several transponder codes so he wouldn't be tracked. He had nothing to worry about.

A fellow with a captain's insignia and  _jaig_ eyes on his bucket was speaking to a group of Selonians. Judging by the clone's body language and the furry Selonian's raised hackles, it was not a pleasant conversation. The same scene looked like it was repeated across the hangar, and the Force-presences of most beings in the area were ripe with frustration and fear.

Buffeted by the emotions of the civvies and clones alike, Shadow's previous, sharp-edged focus faded, and he winced behind his bucket. This mess was his fault.

He'd only been following orders. He'd done the Republic a service.

But the question remained: why were the clones here in the first place? Why couldn't they have handled the destruction of Argente's ship? Why was  _he_ brought in? Yes, he had the Force, but surely an ARC trooper like the one he'd seen could have managed to toss a few dets aboard a ship.

At a break in the civvy traffic, the ARC trooper emerged from the crowd and approached the  _jaig_  eyed captain. Both clones removed their buckets, and after a little tweaking of his HUD settings, Shadow could hear their conversation.

"Report," the captain said.

The ARC trooper sighed. "No sign of our attacker. Security cams didn't pick anything up, either. I'm starting to think the ship was rigged before it even docked. Any news from the general?"

"He comm'd a few minutes ago. The Chancellor has been informed, and will begin his own investigation, but Skywalker didn't seem to think much would come of it."

"It's a damn shame. We were so kriffing close."

Captain  _Jaig_  Eyes nodded. "Argente's intel could've saved a lot of lives. I doubt another Sep will defect after this debacle."

Shadow's stomach dropped to his knees. Argente had been... _defecting_ from the Seps?

_Fek. What have I done?_

"We tried, Rex," the ARC trooper said quietly.

 _Rex_. The name struck a chord in Shadow's mind, as did most things that reminded him of Before. But he couldn't call up an accompanying memory and he ground his teeth as he debated. Should he risk approaching Rex, if only to ask,  _have we met before?_ He'd not spoken to another clone since leaving Kamino, barely a week ago. Felt like longer.

No. He had his orders to work alone, and orders were never given without reason, even if it wasn't immediately clear. Besides, there were too many unknowns. Even if Shadow was privy to the larger picture behind his orders, Rex would likely only think him dangerous, and once they learned of his involvement with Argente's death, he would probably get thrown in a containment cell somewhere.

So Shadow remained where he stood.

Rex placed a hand on the other fellow's shoulder. "I know you tried _._ This is just a loss we'll have to swallow and move on. We've done it before."

The ARC trooper nodded, but his head dropped too low. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Rex replied. "You did your best. You always do,  _vod_."

If the name  _Rex_ was a familiar note, this word,  _vod,_ was a symphony. Shadow's breath caught as an unanticipated dizziness swept over him. He was reminded of being crouched on the side of the mountain back on Iktotch, looking down to see how far he had to fall if he made a misstep.

 _Vod._ Brother.

The two clones continued to speak, but Shadow didn't listen. It was all he could do to simply take a proper breath while his heart hammered against his ribs like it was trying to break free. Another memory, faded and torn, hung just below the surface of his mind, but he could not reach it, only recognize the longing it stirred within him. His vision swam and his eyes stung.  _Vod_. Brother.

This was too much. He had to get away from this place, these clones. It was time to run.

* * *

The Force helped him reach his ship unseen, and a lack of concern for the station's lockdown allowed him to jump to hyperspace without further delay. After changing out the transponder codes and setting the nav for his next check-in, Shadow leaned back in the pilot's chair and meditated.

Save a few occasions, he'd repeated this process every day since he'd woken up on Kamino: settle down, quiet his breathing, steady his heartbeat. With these things would come a place of calm, a place where he could reflect on the day's events; then, without fail, he would see the wall.

As always, he could do nothing but skim his palms over the cold, unyielding surface. As always, he could not find a fissure, or anything close to a weak point. Within his mind, deep in meditation, Shadow pressed his body to the stone wall, throwing all of his weight against it, begging, pleading for it to give, even a little.

The wall remained firm.

Eventually he drew away and turned his focus to Rex, trying to recall where he'd encountered that clone before, but this, too, was a lost cause. To add insult to injury, the only thing he was able to dredge up from his mind was  _her_ face – the dark-haired, dark-eyed woman lodged within his fekking memory. Somehow, she was related to his memory of Rex, but beyond that, he knew nothing.

_Nothing._

Shadow opened his eyes to the blue ribbons of hyperspace, and ran his fingers through his hair. Too many unknowns. He'd committed a criminal act, but he'd had orders from Lord Tyranus. Why would a Jedi act against the Republic? Were other Jedi working with Tyranus?

For that matter, did anyone else know of his own existence? Surely a Force-sensitive clone would warrant some kind of investigation – at least a trip to the Council – but such a thing had never been mentioned. What the fek sort of special ops program had he gotten involved with?

His breath came shorter and his palms began to sweat as panic set in. What the kriff was he doing?

Why couldn't he fekking  _remember_ any-kriffing-thing from Before?

Any calm Shadow had gathered disintegrated with this thought.  _Before_. All he knew of it were bits and pieces of memories, none of which fit together. Nothing in his life made sense. Even his armor didn't fit right.

At first he confused the buzz of his comlink with the furious lash of his heart. Hands trembling, Shadow fumbled in his belt and withdrew the little device, his only link to his commanding officers; this, too, was so bizarre. But it was all he had. He took a deep breath to steady himself and read the most recent message.

Another assassination.

Shadow's stomach twisted and he fought for his next breath. More blood on his hands. It was wrong. It was all wrong.

But what was  _right_?

The answer bubbled up from someplace deep inside. Orders. Training. If nothing else could be trusted, he had to trust these things. This brought him a measure of calm, which he latched onto as he worked to slow his racing heart and steady his nerves. He was a soldier; he was supposed to obey orders, even if he didn't always know  _why._ His memory was spotty, sure, but he had not forgotten his training. It was impossible – and unwise – to give every soldier  _every_ piece of the larger puzzle. Little cadets could accept this truth, so Shadow had to as well.

Calmer now, he took another deep breath, stowed his comlink, and reached for the navicomputer to reset the coordinates. Perhaps his anxiety was the result of whatever injury had brought him to Kamino in the first place. If he was so worried that he was having panic attacks, he should find a kriffing medic. Maybe he would ask Lord Tyranus about it, later.

For now, he had orders to follow.

* * *

Random note: The previous chapter, (35), marked the official half-way point of this story. Fearless totals 70 chapters, and at one chapter per week, that puts "The End" in early January of 2016. I may have to take a week off here and there, but I'll let you know beforehand if possible.

Thank you to anyone who's reading along, and a super extra special thank you (with cupcakes!) to those of you who have left reviews. :) Stay awesome, everyone!


	38. Chapter Thirty-Seven

Lyrics: ["Something Good Can Work," by Two Door Cinema Club, on  _Tourist History._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wxu02vp_Vm0&index=38&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp)

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Seven**

_Let's make this happen, girl._

_You've got to show the world that something good can work,_

_And it can work for you,_

_And you know that it will._

_Approximately two weeks later..._

Honi glared at Weave but managed to keep her voice cool. "I'm fine."

His reply was an easy, "If you stay in the sun any longer, you'll be burned to a crisp."

Her mouth opened to object further, but...well, she  _was_ a little warm, come to think of it. A fair complexion was a ridiculous evolutionary byproduct; she could hardly be in direct sunlight for more than a few minutes before she started to burn.

But she had a job to do. She pointed to Kalinda and Milo, dutifully performing their aquatic therapy while Zara looked on. "I have patients–"

"They'll be fine," Weave broke in, coming to stand before her so that she was somewhat in the shade of his muscular chest and broad shoulders. She did not entirely mind his interruption. "So will the others," he added. "You've done a lot for them already; coming here was a good idea, but I'd rather you not suffer for it."

It  _was_ nice to be out of the direct sunlight, even for a moment, but Honi was not yet willing to relinquish her role. "If the Force can keep a woman unconscious for knee-replacement surgery and help her recuperate," she met his eyes, "it can work wonders on a sunburn."

"Of that I have no doubt." He smiled. "But your nose is very pink."

Her face heated in a way that had nothing to do with the sun. Like all the clones, his skin was tan. Regardless of Jango Fett's heritage, the Kaminoans had probably tweaked the clones' genetics so they could withstand direct sunlight for prolonged periods. Unlike her.

She sighed. "Very well. But keep an eye on Kalinda."

Her former teacher sat upon the stone steps that led into the freshwater pool, speaking with Traxis and Milo as she and Milo did the exercises Honi had assigned each of them. At Honi's look, Kalinda met her eyes and shot her a thumb's up. Barely a week from her surgery, and the woman seemed not to have a care in the world. Of course that wasn't true, but the surgery had seemed to improve Kalinda's mood in a way Honi did not quite understand.

Weave didn't follow her gaze, only gave a solemn nod that was belied by the flash of amusement – and attraction – in the Force. "Of course."

Honi's face heated again, but she merely turned away from Weave and made her way to the shade of the nearest deity statue, one of the many scattered throughout the pool, raised above the water level on stone bases. The sunstone statues glittered in the afternoon sunlight. Smiling men, women and animals wreathed in jewels and flowers seemed to watch over the supplicants who traveled to the vibrant teal waters, hoping to reap the benefits caused by the springs' cocktail of healing minerals.

Admittedly, coming to the temple was one of Kalinda's better ideas. Once the dark-haired Jedi had learned of the springs of Chamunda's Tears, she'd insisted on bringing the entire group – Jedi and clones alike – with Queen Hari's blessing. Parts of the temple were sacred and only to be visited by believers, but this particular pool was free for anyone who could make the trip. If the temple of Chamunda's Tears had not been in the middle of a rocky nowhere, Honi would have found it rather convenient.

Honi leaned against the damp statue and watched the others. Most of the clones swam laps; some, like Zero and Milo, simply treaded water. Weave joined the fellows swimming laps. It was harder than it should have been to tear her eyes away from his graceful form as he cut through the blue-green water.

"Master!" Zara breached the pool's surface directly beside her, sending water droplets scattering. "You're all pink!"

Force above; she'd been too absorbed in Weave and hadn't sensed her own kriffing Padawan. Honi swiped the water out of her eyes. "Yes, Zara. Genetically, I'm not as fortunate as the rest of you."

The girl's large, dark eyes swept over her, and she frowned. "Does it hurt?"

"No." Honi glanced at her bare arms, which were indeed a bright pink, and grimaced. "Not yet." She'd only worn a tunic and pair of shorts; not such a good idea in hindsight, but she'd been preoccupied with other, more important matters.

"I can help," Zara offered, toying with the end of one of her  _lekku._ "If you want me to, that is. Or I can leave you alone..."

The Padawan  _should_  have been helping Kalinda, as Honi wanted her to get some experience with physical therapy, but Honi recalled Kali and Weave's words, and shook her head. "No, Zara. I'd be thankful for your assistance. It's difficult for me to heal myself."

"Really?" Zara placed her pale blue hands on Honi's arm, and a cool tingle began to spread from the point of contact. It was brief, but effective; while Zara did her other arm, Honi examined the first, and was pleased to see that her skin was its normal, ivory color.

After Zara finished with her other arm, she hesitated. "I didn't think you had trouble with any kind of healing. You make it all look easy."

"Perhaps it seems that way," Honi replied with a shake of her head. "But it isn't. I've struggled with quite a few aspects of healing; only through practice and study have I reached this point. And," she gave Zara a knowing look, "unflagging concentration, young Padawan."

Zara's  _lekku_ flushed. "I'm sorry, Master. Here, let me finish–"

But Honi pulled away before Zara could lay hands on her face. "No, that's not necessary." She took a deep breath, hoping to stall for time while she worked out the right thing to say. "Everyone has their own talents, and their own...areas that need improvement. You are easily distracted, but you have a...knack for healing, especially when dealing with emotional trauma."

"You really think so?"

Honi nodded. "On the journey to Kamino, you helped Kalinda through a difficult time, when I was unsure how to handle her outburst. I know I was angry at first, because you disobeyed me, but I am ultimately grateful you did so."

Zara gaped at her, but Honi continued, anxious to be through with this conversation so they could move forward. "And I've seen you with the boy; he's clearly been through an ordeal, but you have helped him cope."

"All I've done is look at the nanogene droids with Levy," Zara replied, brow furrowed. "We've almost figured out how to program them. We've talked a little bit, which I like, but don't know how helpful it is. I mean, it's nothing like what you did with Milo, or how you kept Kalinda in stasis during her surgery."

"But you enjoy talking with him." Honi was careful to keep any judgment from her voice.

Zara skimmed her palms through the water, creating small waves around her body. "I do. I like talking to people."

"I never have." Honi glanced at the others, most of whom were happily chatting away. Weave was helping Kalinda get to her feet – carefully. "I'd rather work on a patient who cannot speak," Honi continued, looking back at her Padawan. "Perhaps it's why I took so well to  _morichro_. In any case, I think it wise for you to develop your skills along your preference for emoting with others."

"Like...studying psychology?" When Honi nodded, Zara's eyes widened and she grinned. There was something infectious about a Nautolan grin, and Honi found her own mouth pulling into a faint smile. "That would be..." Zara's grin widened. "I think I'd like that. But," her face fell and worry rippled through her Force-signature, "will I be able to? Aren't we in big  _poodoo_  with the Council?"

Honi's amusement evaporated. "I'm not certain," she admitted. "I've not spoken to anyone on the Council since before we left Coruscant. Too many other matters have come up, and they are still fighting the Wars; it's likely they've not had time to worry overmuch about you and I."

"But we're doing something good here," Zara said. Her eyes had fallen on Levy, who was swimming laps with Weave and some of the others. The sound of the clones' laughter added a musical quality to the air.

Across the pool, Weave looked up from his latest lap and met Honi's gaze, and he smiled. She smiled back. "Yes, Zara," she said quietly. "We are. For now, it will be enough."

* * *

_Meanwhile..._

Kali glanced up as the familiar presences reached her, and smiled. Two of them she'd expected; Sita had said she'd join them at the temple of Chamunda's Tears when she had time, and no doubt Upala had wanted Tejaal to check on her patients.

But the third presence...

"What the kriff's gotten into you?" Traxis asked, shading his eyes with the flat of his hand as he looked around the pool. Mi and Weave glanced up as well. Crest was doing laps with the others, and hadn't yet seen the newcomers.

Kali grinned and pulled herself upright, resting her elbows on the stone edge of the pool to get a better look. "He's here."

"Who the fek is 'he?'"

There; she spotted Quinlan Vos' familiar, dark dreadlocks swaying as he approached. She lifted her hand in a greeting that he returned, and her smile widened. "My 'Jedi pal.'"

At this, all three clones looked sharply in Quin's direction, and she felt their Force-presences prickle with anticipation – and agitation. Quinlan was their best chance of finding Stonewall, after all. So much of their hope was riding on him.

When she reached the pool, Sita smiled down at Kali. "You're looking very well; I take it the healing process is still being Force-aided?"

"Honi's done wonders," Kali replied, flexing her left knee. It was swollen and scarred, and protested most movement, but she had hopes for the future. "I see you brought a guest."

At this, Quinlan gave a short bow in the manner of the Arunai. "Her Majesty was kind enough to escort me. Nice work, Kali," he added, giving her a wink. "You always pick the most interesting places to land."

"It's a talent." She glanced at the guys, who watched Quin with varying degrees of curiosity, or, in Trax's case, suspicion. Would he ever learn to trust anyone? She made the necessary introductions, then cleared her throat. "I'd like to speak to Quin in private, but Honi will be quite cross if I walk anywhere..."

"Don't worry about it," Weave said, nudging Milo. "We'll clear out."

"Would you please show me the others?" Sita asked, though her attention was on a particular bald clone. "I'm curious as to how they are doing. I regret that I've been unable to spend more time among them."

Tejaal echoed the sentiment – with a look at Milo, Kali noticed – and the group slipped off to the other end of the pool; the guys swam while Sita and Tejaal walked along the stone edge.

Kali glanced up at Quinlan, who'd stepped out of his boots to sit on the edge, dangling his bare feet in the water while she sat on the steps that led into the pool. "Thank you for coming," she said.

"Sorry it took so long to get here. I had to sort out a few things first." He scrunched his nose. "You know, it's kriffing weird to have a whole clone  _company_ to deal with now...I have to say, it's nice to be a free agent for the moment."

"Your men will be okay without you?"

"They seem capable enough," he replied, shrugging, though he said nothing else, just regarded her expectantly.

 _Well, here we go._ Kali ran a hand through her damp hair and met his eyes. "How much did Obi-Wan tell you?"

Quin leaned back on his hands and tilted his face to the sun. "Kenobi was damn concise, even for him, and I have no clue how much the Council knows about your, er, situation. All Obi-Wan told me was that you need my help tracking down a Force-sensitive who's gone barvy or something."

Her stomach tightened at the description, but it wasn't wholly inaccurate. "Something like that." She took a deep breath. "The Force-sensitive is a clone trooper named Captain Stonewall. He's not barvy; he was reconditioned." She glanced at Quin to see if he knew the term. At his nod, she continued, though she lowered her gaze to the water. "We don't know how he came to be Force-sensitive, but I'd been training him for about a year. But even so..."

"He's dangerous," Quinlan finished when she trailed off. "Kriff. A clone trooper? Really?" At Kali's nod he shook his head, dreadlocks swaying. "Are there others like him out there? Are we gonna have an army of Force-sensitive, order-following, bucket-heads running around?"

"There's no one like him." The words were sharper than she intended, and she ducked her head again.

A soft tap on her shoulder made her look up, where Quin regarded her with drawn brows. "What is he to you?"

There was no use lying about it, or hiding. Not anymore. Kali lifted her chin. "He's my husband. He's the father of my child."

"Fek, Kali." Quin let out a low whistle, then, to her surprise, chuckled quietly. "When you go against the Code, you go  _against_ the kriffing Code, don't you?"

"Don't lecture me. You know I won't listen."

He gave her a sardonic smile. "I'm in no position to lecture anyone, Kali. I just..." He scrubbed a hand over his face, lingering over the yellow tattoo that crossed his eyes, then sighed. "Where was he last seen?"

"Kamino. A...research facility, for lack of a better word, in Timira City."

"Which was...?"

"About three weeks ago." Had it been such a short time? Surely years of her life had passed since she'd last spoken to Stone.

Nodding, Quinlan swept his toes through the water for a few moments, studying the swimming clones, though Kali sensed his thoughts were distant. At last, he looked back at her, and his voice was warm. "I thought there was something different about you. You're all glowy."

Her face flamed. "Shut up."

He laughed outright, and gave her a wink, though his voice turned serious once more. "I'll do my best, but I can't promise anything."

"I know." The sun was warm – too warm, judging by Honi's pink nose – but Kali shivered. "I don't know what else to do. I can't feel him in the Force anymore..."

She looked down, unable to finish the thought. Frankly, it was all she could do to take a steadying breath. The water sloshed around her; a moment later Quin was at her side, wrapping one arm around her shoulder, pulling her into his side. She resisted at first, but relented when he said her name. He was warm and solid – and wrong. They'd never been quite right together. There was no romantic intention within him now, nor within her, but it was good to be held.

Kali exhaled into his hair. "Now you're soaked."

"Won't be the first time. Or the last. Especially if you're sending me off to Kamino. By all accounts, it's a miserable place." He lifted his arm and chuckled. "Your hubby's pals don't like me."

She glanced up. Sure enough, Trax was glaring vibroblades at Quinlan, who raised his hands in mocking surrender. Weave watched with a neutral expression; she didn't see Milo or Crest. A thought struck her, so she sat up and waved Trax and Weave over. They were at her side in a few, graceful strokes through the water, and she didn't miss how Trax's eyes never left Quinlan Vos, who now leaned back on his hands, his tunic floating around him lazily.

"You've never been to Kamino?" she asked Quinlan. He shook his head and she glanced between Trax and Weave. "Then I have a proposition for you–"

"Sorry, Kali," Quin broke in wryly. "My girl doesn't want to share. And I doubt your Stonewall would, either."

Trax bristled at the mention of Stone, but Kali hurried to keep speaking. "Sector Nine was practically a labyrinth; I think your search might go quicker if you had some help..."

* * *

_Meanwhile..._

Sita stood alone in the shade of a feathering nala tree. Captain Biswal and the other guards were nearby, but this temple was one of the few places her captain felt safe enough to leave her without an escort. Each breath brought cool water, sandalwood and roses from the incense burning all over the temple. Birds sang. She watched the clones; one in particular. Crest swam with the others, laughing and teasing, and generally showing no sign that he'd shattered anyone's heart.

Her heart. She swiped at her eyes.  _Foolish,_ she scolded herself.  _You should know better._

He'd been right to say every word because she'd not wanted to see the truth. She'd not wanted to recognize how she was willing to repeat her own, sordid history.

Crest acted the fool, so she'd seen, but he was wise beyond anyone's reckoning. Especially her own.

But she had a reason for coming here, one that went beyond escorting the Jedi or torturing herself with what would not be. After a few more enlightening conversations she had something of a plan in place, but it would require a willing participant with Crest's particularly affable nature. She took a steadying breath and approached the pool's edge, where the clones were gathered.

He did not see her right away; only when the others quieted did he turn. His eyes met hers and widened, briefly, though his face slid into a polite – if uncertain – smile. "Majesty," he said, bowing in the waist-deep water. The others followed his example in near-perfect unison. Evidently their training had come far over the last three weeks.

"I would speak with you," she said, adding, "alone," as if the idea did not set her heart to racing.

The only indication of his emotions was the faint crease in his forehead, though it, too, smoothed as he nodded. He hoisted himself out of the pool easily, grabbed a towel that had been left on a nearby bench, and bowed to her again, as was proper. Sita indicated the stone walkway with a tilt of her chin, and they began to walk.

The moment they were out of earshot of the others, Crest cleared his throat. "Sita, I–"

"I have come on behalf of my people," she broke in, pitching her voice to its most professional. "To ask a boon of you."

"A boon?"

Nala trees hung over the pathway, their leaves dappling the light that fell across the two of them. A gentle breeze brought the scent of jasmine and a little sense of calm. Sita's next words came easier. "We have discussed my desire to help you and your clone brothers. I have spoken to several members of Parliament and a few discreet parties in the Republic Senate. As it happens, there is much interest in aiding the clone soldiers who have taken refuge on our world."

"That's..." He exhaled and shook his head, sending droplets of water flying. "That's decent of them, Sita, but...what does it have to do with me?"

"You have a way with people," she replied, folding her hands before her as they walked. "I would ask you to help me sway the general public to the cause of the clones."

Crest gaped at her a moment, then scrubbed his face with the towel; she thought it was a ruse to buy himself some time before he replied. When he met her eyes again, his bemusement was written in every line of his face. "I'm just a clone. I place thermal dets and blow stuff to  _haran._ I make bad jokes. I'm no," he grimaced, "orator. No mouthpiece for any cause. I'm just a soldier, and not even a very good one."

"You are a gifted speaker," she replied, facing the shifting shadows of the path ahead. "You carried yourself perfectly with Member Ka'ar and Ghosh–"

"Well, they weren't exactly intimidating," he broke in. "But I'm getting the notion that you want me to give a...press conference, or something else totally thermal."

Sita tilted her head in thought. "I had not considered that, but it would be the most effective way to spread the message, and expose you to the widest audience."

"Oh, no." He planted his feet and shook his head. "Sita...don't take this the wrong way, but you're barking up the wrong wroshyr tree if you think I'm capable of anything even remotely like what you're suggesting."

Now she turned to him fully. Any awkwardness she'd felt before had faded in the wake of her hopes; even her heartache had subsided for the moment. Still, she thought her emotions bled through her voice, for all that she tried to hold them within. "You're wrong," she said quietly. "I know you, Crest. I know you are more than what you claim."

"Sita–"

"You can do this," she added, steeling her nerves before she allowed herself to meet his eyes. "Please, at least try."

They stood beneath the flowing branches of the nala trees, just over an arm's length from each other, and never had she felt farther away from him even as her lips tingled with the memory of his kiss. He stared at her and she could see his mind turning over her words, until at last he sighed.

"Alright." He gave a helpless chuckle and slung his towel around his neck, and shook his head again. "But I'm going to let  _you_ explain this all to Kali."

Sita could not help herself; when he smiled, so did she. "Very well."

* * *

_A little earlier..._

Milo swept his arms through the cool water, and winced.  _Kriff!_  Righty did well enough, moving without any trouble, but Lefty...

He paused and rubbed his left shoulder, where the nerves tingled and stung; the sensation stretched all the way through his arm. He relaxed his wrist and shook out his hand in an effort to relieve the prickling feeling, but didn't accomplish more than slapping water against Zero's back.

"Now, now," the one-armed clone said, turning. "I can be a jerk, but that's just mean."

Milo dropped both hands in the water and sighed. "Sorry, Zero. I didn't mean to splash you."

Zero's gaze flickered to the offensive shoulder. "Not going well?"

"Everyone says it's healing great, but I dunno." Milo flexed his left hand; his fingers were distorted beneath the rippling water.

The other clone chuckled. "At least you have it."

 _Ah, kriff_. Milo's face grew too warm, even accounting for the sun. "Zero, I–"

But Zero lifted his hand and shook his head. "I know."

They stood a little ways apart from the other clones, who were swimming laps at Trax's instruction. The pool wasn't particularly deep, but the water was clear and reflected the few clouds that skated across the bright blue sky.

Trax's voice rang out above the others. "Fekking come on, Ward! You call that a breaststroke? Your buddy Zero could do better!"

Milo winced, but Zero chuckled again. "Quite a character, your brother." He wriggled his stump. "I count myself lucky to make it across the pool without drowning."

"You just need to build up your strength," Milo said. "You can do it."

Zero skimmed his hand through his hair; most of Misfit Squad had elected to keep theirs short, but Zero had let his grow out a bit, long enough to flop into his eyes. "Good point." He seemed to think for a moment, then glanced back at Milo. "Say, can  _you_  swim with one arm?"

"I haven't tried."

"Hmm." Zero flicked his wrist beneath the water's surface, splashing Milo's chest. "Want to find out?"

There was no teasing in the other clone's voice, only curiosity and, to Milo's surprise, a warmth he had never heard before. He nodded and they moved to the other end of the pool, further away from the others.

As it turned out, swimming with one arm, while not easy, was not impossible. It required Milo to turn his body through each stroke in a way that was unfamiliar at first, though he quickly grew accustomed to the new movement. By the time he and Zero called it quits, his right arm was burning heartily, but he'd done many successful, one-armed laps. As had Zero. The one-armed clone moved through the water with the grace of a porpoise, and the smile on his face was perhaps the first genuine one Milo had ever seen him wear.

After a little while, Kali caught Milo's eye, so he bid goodbye to Zero and went to join his Jedi on the steps of the pool, where she was doing the knee exercises General Tallis had prescribed. He had exercises of his own, which he'd been trying to do before his and Zero's impromptu swimming lesson, but now he approached them with a renewed vigor.

"I saw you and Zero," Kali was saying as she flexed her knee. "You guys were making a pretty good showing out there."

Milo grinned. "We were, weren't we? I'm starting to think I'll feel normal again, eventually."

She smiled too, but it was not as broad of an expression as he'd seen on her face before, and he knew she was thinking of Stonewall. She always was; judging by the tone of Stonewall's memories, he'd often thought of her, too. No, not just often. Always. Images rose to the surface of Milo's mind – nothing coherent, just fragments of smiles and whispers – and something ached within his chest, a nameless longing he could not remember feeling so keenly. He looked away from Kali and turned all of his attention to his left arm, dangling at his side once more.

_Normal. What's normal anymore?_

He was unused to sulking and wasn't very good at it. When Queen Hari, General Vos and Tejaal arrived, Milo was only too happy to turn his attention to Tejaal, if only to see what shade of pink her lips were today. When she met his eyes and gave him a smile he now recognized, heat flushed through his body, effectively pushing aside his melancholy and urging his thoughts in a far more pleasant direction. He smiled back, and saluted her as well, and when her cheeks colored he welcomed the distraction.

* * *

_A little later..._

Tejaal was soft and warm, and smelled like roses. Milo squeezed her hips and marveled at the delighted flush that spread over her smiling face, and pulled her closer to kiss her again. This, too, had become something else he was used to, though far more pleasant than the tingling in his left arm that he could easily ignore when she was near. Impossibly, Tejaal softened further beneath him, opening her mouth like a flower. Her body pressed to his bare chest as she shrugged out of her tunic, draping it on the grass beside them before she deepened the kiss.

Aside from their breaths, the only noises that filtered to temple gardens were the occasional trills of birdsong and the distant cadence of clone voices. Milo hardly remembered walking here, or taking a seat on the wooden bench and pulling her into his lap. His senses swam with the woman in his arms.

They broke apart to breathe, and she whispered his name and ran her hands through his hair. "I really did just want to talk," she murmured, kissing his ears and nose as she spoke.

"You're talking now," he pointed out.

She grinned and shifted her hips. Milo knew she could tell how much he liked it when she did so. "I wanted to tell you how much fun I had the other night."

Heat crept to his face but his own grin was too big to allow him to hold anything back. "Me too. And the night after that."

Tejaal flushed again and skimmed her fingertips over the pink scar on his shoulder. "I cannot pick a favorite. It is true what I've heard about the clones," she leaned her face close to his, "you are fast learners..."

Maybe he could have said something else here. Whenever he flirted with her, she got the most adorable smile, the kind that dimpled her round cheeks and lit up her entire face, and Milo found he enjoyed seeing it, very much. He enjoyed everything they did together. These past three weeks on Aruna had been most educational – and fun.

More than anything else, save perhaps getting Stonewall back, Milo wanted  _fun_ to be enough, so he went without words and just kissed her again.

She was bare from the waist up, now, and he spent some time kissing her, everywhere, just as he'd learned she liked. His reward was a series of breathy, feminine sighs that sent a thrill of desire and satisfaction through him, and again when he gently nipped her throat. His body, too, approved of everything happening, especially Tejaal's shifting hips and soft heat, so close...

But his thoughts roamed.

"Is everything alright?" Though her cheeks were still flushed, she frowned at him in concern and rested a hand on the side of his face. "Mi? You stopped. What's wrong?"

Kriff, she was beautiful. Warm, soft, all woman. She wanted him, and he her. That much was evident. She was more than he'd ever had, She really should have been enough.

The realization swept over him as if he'd been splashed with ice water. She wasn't enough. They were nearly as physically close as two people could be – and would be there soon, if things progressed further – but he felt nothing for her other than affection, which was mirrored in her eyes as she studied him. Affection. Warmth. Kindness.

Not love.

This felt good, sure, and he wanted to continue – definitely – but it wasn't that pervasive, consuming, head-spinning, stomach-fluttering, drop-kick-your-heart-before-sending-it-into-orbit feeling that he'd experienced through the filter of Stonewall's memories. It would never be.

But that wasn't Tejaal's fault. Maybe it wasn't his, either. Maybe it was one of those things that was beyond his control. Milo stroked the side of her neck with his thumb and savored the elevation of her pulse, the way her breath caught at his touch. He leaned close again to inhale her scent, and she shivered.

"Milo..."

Perhaps there would be time for love, later. In the meantime, there was no reason to let her suffer even a moment of doubt as to how much he enjoyed her company. He kissed her gorgeous, full lips before speaking in her ear. "Everything's wonderful,  _cyar'ika_. Especially you."

A light, relieved laugh left her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, and he forgot to think for a while after that.

* * *

_Later..._

"Where the fek have you been?"

"Uh..." Milo scrubbed his damp towel over his hair and was strangely hard-pressed to meet Trax's eyes, more so when Tejaal hurried past him out of the garden and toward the temple's entrance, where Queen Hari waited with her guards.

"Never mind," Trax said, though Milo caught a faint smirk crossing his scarred face. "Kali's looking for us."

He followed Trax down the stone pathway, toward the pool, where Kali was still seated with General Vos. Weave was there, too, and Crest, Levy, Zara and Tallis, and all of them turned to watch him and Trax approach. Crest's eyes darted between Milo and Tejaal's retreating form, and his brow lifted, but for a mercy he kept silent. If Weave noticed anything, his expression did not reveal it.

Kali, too, seemed not to know what Milo had just been doing in the garden, and gave him a warm smile, though it held some apprehension. Once he and Trax were also seated on the pool's ledge, she nodded to the new general.

"Quin's agreed to travel to Kamino and try to track down Stonewall, but I'd feel better if he had a guide: someone who knows Timira City, and who knows Stone. I wish I could go," she added with a frown. "But I'm under Healer's orders to remain here for the time being."

"Yes, you most certainly are," Tallis said sharply.

"Someone from Misfit Squad would be the most knowledgeable about the layout of Sector Nine," Weave said.

But Kali shook her head. "I won't ask any of them to return to that place. Perhaps we can contact the Antarian Rangers. One of them might be able to help."

"What the fek's an Antarian Ranger?" Trax asked.

"Sort of like...non-Force-sensitive support troops for the Jedi," Kali replied. "There aren't that many of them any longer, but they've proven themselves to be rather effective. I've worked with them in the past."

General Vos cleared his throat. "How about we don't and say we did?"

"Quin, it's just an idea–"

"I'd like to go," Milo heard himself say. Seven pairs of eyes fixed on him; he flushed under their combined scrutiny, but continued. "I mean, if that's okay..."

Kali frowned. "You...want to go back there?"

"Not really," he admitted. "But I want to find my  _vod_ more than I  _don't_ want to go back to The Dregs."

Crest and Weave exchanged nervous glances, and the medic cleared his throat. "Mi..."

But the moment the words left his mouth, he knew them to be true. Returning to Kamino, while it wouldn't be a pleasure cruise, would be a nice distraction from the thoughts that had plagued him earlier. Tejaal was lovely, but she was not enough to tether him to this world.

"Besides," Milo went on. "I can probably help General Vos, somehow. I was with Stonewall when he...you know." He couldn't voice the event, but his shoulder twinged as if in remembrance.

Kali studied him a moment; he recognized the look on her face from his own memories, but it was through Stonewall's that he knew she didn't entirely believe what he was saying. But at last she nodded and glanced at her Jedi pal. "There's your guide."

"Kali, I'm a tracker. I don't  _need_  a guide." General Vos glanced back at the clones. "No offense, Milo."

The dark-haired woman straightened and met his eyes. "The more I think of it, the more I believe Mi's experiences will come in handy."

General Vos frowned. "Kali–"

"I saw him right after they reconditioned him," Milo broke in. "He tried to kill me – sort of. I have his memories. I can help you, sir."

The new general gaped at him, but Kali's voice filled the silence. "Milo...are you sure you're ready to return?"

"No," he admitted. A flurry of movement caught his eyes, and he watched Zero, Rime and Cobble swimming in the far end of the pool, Ward and Halligan gliding along beside them. All were laughing openly. They should; they were free of that place.

But he had some unfinished business with The Dregs. "But it's the right thing to do," he added, and looked back at Kali.

She gave him one of those fond, exasperated looks he knew well, and glanced at General Vos. "Even you can't refuse an offer like that."

The new Jedi threw up his hands. "It's pointless to argue with you, isn't it?"

"You really should know that by now," Kali replied, grinning. "Maybe you and Honi can start a support group."

"If Mi's going back to that shithole," Traxis broke in. "I'm going, too."

Milo goggled at him. "You don't have to do that, Trax."

"Shiny or not, you need someone to watch your six." The scarred clone spoke with a little more force than Milo thought was needed, and crossed his arms before his chest. "If anyone wants to argue about this, do it with someone who gives a fek. I'm going. End of discussion."

Kali shot General Vos a lifted brow that Milo thought no one else was meant to see, and the other Jedi rolled his eyes, but nodded. "Fine. Whatever." He looked between Crest and Weave. "Do you two want to tag along, too?"

Weave replied first. "If it's alright with everyone, I'd like to remain on Aruna. There's a few matters I need to keep my eyes on."

"Same here," Crest added, though his face was a curious shade of bright pink. What was  _that_ about? "I've got, uh, stuff happening."

Everyone looked at him curiously, but Kali recovered first, sitting up and drawing their attentions. "Very well," she said in that calm, Jedi-voice of hers. "It's settled. Quin's going to leave tomorrow morning; Trax, Mi, if that's alright with you, you can join him."

"I'm ready to leave right-effing-now."

Milo glanced up; from where he sat, he couldn't see Tejaal any longer. He told himself to remember to tell her goodbye, but his heart and mind were already across the galaxy, on the storm-world. "Yeah," he added, meeting Kali's eyes again. "Me, too."


	39. Chapter Thirty-Eight

Lyrics: ["Wish You Were Here," by Pink Floyd, from same.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DPL_SV3n7IU&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp&index=39)

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Eight**

_We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl,_

_Year after year._

_Running over the same old ground;_

_What have we found?_

_The same old fears._

_Wish you were here._

The day after General Vos' arrival on Aruna, Trax found himself on a Republic transport, Kamino-bound. Fan-kriffing-tastic.

With himself and Mi in their full kits and a Jedi at the helm of the tri-winged vessel, it could have been any other mission, months ago. Except Trax had never found himself catching admiring glimpses of  _Kali's_  arms; she was pretty, he supposed, for a fem, but Quinlan Vos was much nicer on the eyes. Well,  _his_ eyes, at least. This Jedi's muscular biceps alone were the stuff of dreams.

But the mild attraction Traxis felt for the general was fleeting, for at the front of his mind was a coral-colored face, warm brown eyes, and a crooked smile that he saw when he was alone in his bunk, in the wee hours. Fek, Trax could still feel Ares' mouth on his, still taste him, still hear the lilting cadence of his Ryl accent.

Trax scowled at hyperspace, where the blank T-visor of his bucket was reflected back at him. Nothing had been right since he'd met Ares. Damn that fekking tailhead to all Nine Corellian Hells.

"No, I'm not Force-sensitive," Milo was saying to the Jedi. "Just Stonewall. He was able to sort of...transfer his memories to me, before they reconditioned him." He'd removed his bucket shortly after they'd left Aruna; now he regarded Vos curiously. "With respect, sir, didn't Kali explain this?"

"Kali?"

Milo nodded. "She hates being called 'sir,' or 'General.' So I don't. Well," he amended, smiling a little at some memory or another. "I don't  _any more._ "

Vos chuckled and adjusted something on the helm. "She's never been one for formalities."

"You know her well, do you?" Trax said, adding a not-so-deferential "sir" a beat later. He still hadn't forgotten how this  _chakaar_ had embraced his Jedi- _vod_ ; it didn't matter that Kali had told him later there was nothing romantic about it. As far as Traxis was concerned, Quinlan Vos was not to be trusted. Admired from a safe distance, sure. But trusted? Fek, no.

As if heedless of any of Trax's thoughts, the Jedi didn't even glance his way, and his mouth quirked in a smile. "Well enough. It's been years, though."

Milo gave one of his classically perplexed frowns. "Years since what, sir?"

 _Kriffing hell_. Trax held back the urge to slap his palm to his forehead, and sighed. No matter how experienced Mi became, he'd always be a little shiny, wouldn't he?

The Jedi only shrugged. "Better ask her about that, buddy."

At this, Milo shot Trax a querying look, but Traxis only shook his head. Though, if Milo was starting to explore life in the way Trax  _thought_ he was, someone should probably talk to him about condoms and other  _osik._ Maybe he could ask Weave to do it once they got back to Aruna...

"So, your former captain is married to a Jedi, Force-sensitive, reconditioned, and on the run," Vos said after a moment. "I'm guessing none of that was covered in your training."

"No, sir," Milo replied. "And don't forget the memory-sharing thing."

Quinlan Vos laughed, low and full and deep. In another circumstance, Trax would have liked that laugh a great deal. Now it only served to remind him that he'd rather hear another. He scowled again.

"Right," Vos said, shaking his head helplessly. "How could I forget? Thanks, Mi."

Undeterred, Milo pushed on. "We can help him, I know we can. We just have to  _find_  him, first."

The Jedi sighed. "That's the trick, isn't it?"

"That's why  _you're_  here," Traxis added. "Sir."

"You're not one for protocol either, huh?"

Traxis glared at the Jedi but managed to keep any swears from his answer. "Depends on who's in charge."

Something nudged his side; Mi's elbow. Trax glanced at his  _vod_ and watched with amusement as Milo mouthed,  _what's wrong with you?_

"Nothing," he replied in brisk  _Mando'a_. "Just not too keen on this  _shabuir_ 's attitude. I don't think he really gives two feks about finding Stonewall."

Before Milo could reply, General Vos cleared his throat and said, in near-perfect  _Mando'a_ , "You're wrong there, trooper."

 _Ah, fek_. Trax's face warmed, but the Jedi continued in Basic before he could say anything, which was good because he wasn't really up to apologizing today.

"Besides helping out an old friend, it's important to find your captain." Vos slanted a knowing look at Traxis. "He's a loose ion cannon now; kriff knows what sort of trouble he could cause if he remains at large. Assuming what Kali said is true, and he  _is_ Force-sensitive."

Strangely, all of Trax's anger fled at this, and his throat was tight, too much so to form the sort of sharp reply he would have liked. "He is," he said, looking away from the Jedi, at the stars. "Trust me."

* * *

They reached Kamino late the next day-cycle. General Vos, apparently, had special clearance from the Council – or maybe just General Kenobi; Milo wasn't sure – so they weren't delayed at all before they entered atmo. Trax had told him a little of Shadow Squad's initial arrival on this world, so Milo knew he should be grateful the going was easier this time.

Both clones were fully armored, more out of habit than a fear of encountering any unfriendlies in Sector Nine. Not until Milo had kitted up prior to leaving Aruna did he realize how much he'd missed his armor, though he had been oddly surprised that it still fit him perfectly. For some reason, he'd thought it would feel different. A little smaller, maybe. His surprise was short-lived and had faded into reassurance for most of the journey.

But the moment he caught sight of The Dregs – Sector Nine – his stomach tightened into knots and his heart lodged itself in his throat. For the first time in his life, his armor did not give him a sense of comfort, because it could not protect him from the memories of this place. Maybe it was a  _shabla_ stupid idea to have returned.

General Vos guided the ship through the rain, angling for the training-ground at Milo's direction. The vessel settled easily on the ferrocrete platform a few minutes later, and as the engines cycled down, the three men exited the ship. Only the clones wore full kits. Like so many other Jedi, this one seemed content with his plastoid spaulders and robe, which he tugged over his yellow-slashed eyes.

As they stepped into the driving storm, Milo swallowed. "Sir, do you want us to–"

"Just follow me," was the Jedi's only order before he strode forward.

Kali would have probably given a tight smile, or at least a few words of reassurance – after letting Milo finish speaking; in another situation, General Vos' brusqueness might have bothered him more. As it was, Milo hardly gave the curt order more than passing notice. Rain clattered upon his bucket, loud enough to drown out his thoughts, which was a good thing. Thunder rolled across the sky and made the platform quake beneath his boots; the feeling echoed in the cavity of his chest. As they followed the Jedi into the main building, he stuck a little closer to Trax than was necessary.

A  _ping_ in his HUD alerted him that Trax had opened a comm-channel between them. "What's up, Trax?"

"You okay,  _vod_?"

A white hall stretched as far as he could see. It was too quiet out of the rain, enough so that he missed the storm. His and Trax's footfalls echoed; the Jedi moved silently. "Yeah," Milo managed. "I'm fine."

Trax's chuckle was a little forced, but his gruff voice was warm. "Liar."

This made Milo smile despite himself. "Maybe a little."

They encountered no other living beings, only the dead Kaminoans which Trax had said were in abundance. The Jedi seemed intent on reaching the place where Milo had last seen Stonewall and did not pause to examine any of the other rooms.

Only when the trio reached the end of the main passage, where the hall split into two corridors, did General Vos glance back at the clones. "Where to, fellas?"

"Left," Milo and Trax replied in unison, and Milo was silently pleased he'd remembered the way.

The feeling was shot to  _haran_ in a few minutes, when they came upon the main training-room, and Milo saw the blood. His blood. Tinted a sickly, rust-red by the lights, it spread over the ground in a sloppy patch. Fek, there was a lot. Suddenly it was hard to think straight; his head seemed to float to the ceiling, no longer tethered to his neck; his shoulder burned and his arm tingled.

He didn't realize he'd stopped moving until something firm gripped his shoulder. " _Udesii_ ,  _vod,_ " Trax murmured over the comms. "You're okay, remember?"

Milo's throat was too tight to allow any words to come out, but he nodded once, and leaned into his brother's hand.

Heedless of any of this, Vos knelt before the blood stain and touched the edges with his fingertips, brows drawn together in concentration. After a few moments he drew his hand back and regarded Milo. "All I sense is you. Did he touch anything else?"

"That dead long-neck." Traxis jerked his head toward Creon Dai's body, which was still slumped over the remains of the observation deck. No one had come to clean anything up; did the other long-necks not know what had happened to their fellows? Maybe they didn't care. Milo wasn't sure which was worse. The worst of the smell was filtered by the air-scrubbers in his bucket, but imagination filled in the missing pieces, and he shuddered.

Nodding, Vos rose and crossed the room in a single, fluid leap that stole Milo's breath a little, not because he'd never seen a Jedi perform such a feat, but because it reminded him all-too-well of what Stonewall – Not-Stonewall – had done the last time they'd seen each other. While the Jedi examined Creon Dai's body, Milo and Trax stood at the center of the training-room and Milo fought the urge to whip out his blaster and open fire upon the shadows.

"What the fek is he doing?" Trax muttered over their closed comm-channel.

"I dunno. Kali said he can sense what happened to the last person who touched something." Psychometry, she'd called it. Milo had never heard of such a thing, but he was in no position to suss out what sort of  _osik_ was too weird for even the Force could do.

"Looks like a whole lot of nothing to me," Trax replied. "He's just poking around. I doubt he'll be able to tell us anything." He sighed heavily. "This is fekking pointless. We should be out there, actually  _looking_  for Stonewall."

At one time, Milo would have agreed with his scarred brother, but now the cavernous room seemed to press down upon him, holding him in place. He blinked and saw the bright yellow flash of a vibroblade angled for his chest. "Looking where?" he asked quietly.

Traxis was silent a moment, then his shoulders sank. "I don't know. Anywhere but here. There's nothing for anyone here."

Footsteps caught Milo's attention. General Vos had finished whatever he was doing to Creon's body, and he was pacing for the room's exit. His face was shadowed by his hood, so Milo could not read his expression. "There are others, right?" he asked without pausing.

When Trax replied in the affirmative, the Jedi nodded and quickened his stride. Milo glanced at his brother's T-visor, and they both trotted after the general. With Trax's guidance, they made their way through the gleaming corridors until they reached what looked like a control room of some kind, where the white walls were speckled with fading, dark crimson. Milo's stomach flipped when he caught sight of the long-necks lying slumped over one another, though the Jedi knelt beside them without hesitation.

Kriff...they'd been annihilated. Milo's vision swam as he stared at one long-neck in particular, whose gray eyes watched him sightlessly.

He should have been glad. These long-necks had been cruel to so many clones, more than Milo or anyone probably knew, but there was no room in his heart for satisfaction at the sight.

Stonewall had done this. Stonewall had violently murdered these beings, and could have easily done the same to him.

His gut churned.

But his brother was a bastion of calm beside him, and though they did not touch, Milo was held in place by Trax's presence. When Traxis shot him a glance, Milo was hard-pressed to find his voice. "I never saw any of this. It's...worse than I thought."

Trax's reply was heavy. "I know."

Vos rose again, and peeled back his hood as he stepped over the Kaminoan bodies to return to the clones. His eyes were narrow and his lips formed a thin line. "Kali said there was a lab?"

It took Trax a moment to call up the schematics, for apparently he'd not been to that place, but within a few minutes the three men reached the lab. Silver tables, white walls. Shining rows of instruments whose purposes Milo did not want to consider. Gray, crumpled bodies. Blood on the ceiling. Neither Milo nor Traxis stepped inside after the Jedi, but remained across the threshold, and it took every ounce of training Milo had not to retch.

No matter how often he encountered death, it never got any easier to face. A month ago, he might have thought such a feeling was a malfunction in his physiology, but now...

All soldiers walked close to death. It was the nature of their lives.

Maybe Milo wasn't meant to be a soldier any longer.

The thought fell through his brain quickly, only to be discarded almost at once as silly. Of course he was meant to be a soldier; he wasn't  _meant_  to be anything else.

At last the Jedi returned to them, slamming his palm against the lock-panel to enclose the room. His face was pinched and tight, and there was no longer any gleam of humor in his eyes. The door closed and he rubbed the bridge of his nose, and Milo's heart beat hard enough to rival any thunder.

"Sir?" Milo asked.

Vos dropped his hand and looked between the clones. It took Milo a moment to realize that the Jedi might not know who had spoken, so he shifted his feet to provide a clue. But the general was silent.

At last he shook his head. "Let's get the kriff out of here," he muttered, and turned to jog down the corridor.

"Finally," Trax replied, as he and Milo followed.

Only when they had exited the building altogether was Milo able to find his voice. "Sir," he called as the Jedi was about to vault up the ship's loading ramp. "Did you learn where he went?"

Vos paused at the base of the ramp, cloak once more wrapped around his body to shield himself from the driving rain. His voice drifted from the hollow chasm created by the shadow of his hood. "No," he said, and Milo's heart sank. "But it doesn't matter. Your captain's gone."

"What the fek does that mean?" Trax snarled.

The Jedi tore back his hood and straightened his shoulders, and all at once Milo felt as if the air around them grew heavier, weighted by General Vos' stare. "Kali will probably argue until she's blue in the face, but everything I sensed in there tells me the man you call 'Stonewall' is gone. The clone who the Kaminoans tortured is a monster. A killer."

Milo's throat was dry. "That can't be–"

"It's a fekking load–" Trax broke in.

But Vos silenced the both of them with a neat slice of his hand, and his words echoed with the thunder that shook the platform. "I know you don't want to hear it, but it's the truth." He tapped his temple. "The Force doesn't lie to me. That entire place was seething with fear and pain and anger, and the lab..." He trailed off and tightened his jaw, cold fury flashing in his eyes. "It's been a while, but the emotions were still clear. They brought Stonewall into that lab, but it wasn't Stonewall who left. It was someone else. Someone who stabbed his brother and tore those Kaminoans to bloody pieces."

With that, he turned on his heel and stalked up the ship, his robe now clinging to the backs of his legs. Immediately, Trax lunged after the Jedi, grounding out swears as he marched.

But Milo stood at the base of the ramp, where horror had pinned him in place. His shoulder ached. He turned his face to the gray sky. Gone. Stonewall was gone.  _A monster._

By now it had grown easier to subdue Stonewall's memories, and they no longer popped up unexpectedly. So he did not know what it was that cracked open inside his chest and made his eyes burn. "No..."

"Milo." A strong hand clasped his shoulder, making him turn. Trax was there, helmet tucked under his arm, water streaming down his face, which was twisted with bitterness. "What the  _shab_ are you doing?"

"He's not a monster," Milo said hoarsely. "He's our brother. General Vos is wrong."

The world lit up as lightning tore the sky apart and thunder battered Milo's body again. Traxis shook his head. "Come on,  _vod,_ " he said, thumbing toward the ship, where the engines were already whining in preparation to leave. "It's time to go."

He added a tug on Milo's bad arm, but Milo planted his boots on the ferrocrete platform, where he and Stonewall had played tag with Levy, not that long ago, really. "He could have killed me, but he didn't. He's not gone. He's just lost."

"Where can we find him, Mi? How?" Traxis seemed to have to push the words out.

Milo tore his arm away from his brother. "I don't know, but we can't give up on him."

Traxis winced, then, to Milo's shock, ducked his head and swiped the rainwater from his cheeks. Or at least Milo thought it was rainwater, though Trax's eyes were red. "We need to go," he said again, shaking his head once. "Come on."

"But–"

"Please,  _vod,_ " Traxis added, meeting his gaze. "Let's just fekking  _go_. There's nothing here but a bunch of dead long-necks."

And memories. Milo swallowed tightly but nodded, and followed his brother up the ramp, into the ship.

* * *

_Later..._

Kali stared at Quinlan's report and swiped her eyes. Even after only a few minutes she knew the words by heart, but that did not make them any easier to believe.

Only a few of Quin's words reached her as he explained what he'd found in Sector Nine. "I sensed a monster... The work of a killer..."

Beyond him, Trax and Milo moved heavily across the landing platform. Crest and Weave met them and all four stood silently while Trax and Milo removed their helmets. Trax spoke quietly and shook his head; Milo's eyes tilted down, and he was silent. After a moment, Weave hunched his shoulders and Crest rubbed his forehead, but said nothing. The entire world seemed to press upon the clones.

Less than an arm's length away, Quinlan still spoke in an uncommonly solemn voice. She did not want to listen. "The man you love doesn't exist any more. I'm sorry, Kali."

Her heart stuck in her throat but she managed a reply. "You're sure you couldn't tell where he'd gone?"

Quin shook his head slowly.

She was silent a moment. "What will you tell the Council?"

"What I've told you." His voice softened. "Someone needs to take care of the bodies. A lot of those Kaminoans were juveniles."

He said something else and left soon after. She didn't remember if she said goodbye.

She looked at the guys again. All were gray-faced and silent, and she didn't have the strength to ask them anything more.

Instead, Kali went to her room, where she lay upon the broad, empty bed and stared out the window without seeing the sky. Sorrow stung her heart and filled her throat; she was too full of it to allow even tears.

A monster.

 _No_ , a part of her mind whispered, but her spirit was frayed and torn, and she drifted aimlessly on the ocean of her grief. She hugged her arms to her sides. Where was he now? How could she ever hope to find him again?

After too long, she slept, but her dreams were filled with shadows.

* * *

A/N: Ah, the angst. The pace is going to pick up a bit more next chapter; we're going to start moving through time a little faster. I promise there's a plot in here! ;)


	40. Chapter Thirty-Nine

A/N: This chapter references the vignette collection,  _The Misadventures of Shadow Squad_ , specifically chapter three, "CETOC."

Lyrics:[ "Killing Me Deep Inside," by Slightly Stoopid, from _Everything You Need._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RKJ91U8V-Hk&index=40&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp)

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Nine**

_I said, the people upon the world, they have to see,_

_That all this fussin' and fighting, no, it's not for me._

_Yes, I'm just a man upon the microphone stand,_

_Who hopes to give you some good lovin' through the night._

_Approximately two weeks later..._

Fek, it was hot. Why the kriff had he thought it was a good idea to participate in an  _outdoor_  press conference?

For that matter, why the kriff had he thought it was a good idea to have anything to  _do_ with a press conference?

Crest tugged on the collar of his body-glove and glared at Weave, who stood beside him beneath one of the enclosed pavilions that had been set up in Rudral's market square. "Why didn't you talk me out of this? You're supposed to be the level-headed one."

His medic- _vod_ cast him one of those infuriatingly knowing smiles. "What happened to, 'but what if I could really make a difference?'"

Crest grimaced. "Eff you."

"Relax," Kali said, coming up from behind him and patting his armored back. "You'll be great. Remember the talking points we went over and just be your usual, charming self."

Nodding, Crest tried to peer through the pavilion's canvas walls to get a better sense of the crowd, but he couldn't make out much. Judging by the low thrum of voices, though, it sure sounded like there were a fair number of folks out there. His throat grew dry.

"Wow, there's a  _ton_ of people here," Milo chirped as he pushed the curtain aside and entered the small space, pastry in hand. "There's food vendors and everything. Plus I saw some camera crews. Are they going to put this on the HoloNet?"

"At least security's tight," Trax replied from his place near the canvas wall of the pavilion. "The last thing we need is a kriffing riot or something."

Weave frowned. "Do you think there's a danger of that? The crowd seems mild enough."

"Sita's bucking for dramatic change," Kali replied, still at Crest's side. "She's bound to ruffle some feathers."

Indeed, Crest could hear Sita's voice ringing out from the stage. She'd opened her speech in the lilting Arunai language, but now she spoke in Basic, and if he'd been less nervy he would have actually been able to listen to what she was saying.

One of Sita's aides stuck her head in the pavilion. "Two minute warning."

 _Fek. Fek. Fekkity fek_. Crest's stomach flipped for what felt like the millionth time. Kriff, what he wouldn't have given to be on top of a moving airspeeder right about now.

A soft touch on his arm made him look into Kali's dark eyes. The shadows beneath them tugged at his heart; lately it seemed like she was perpetually wan and exhausted for all that she tried to pretend otherwise. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Will you come out there with me?" he heard himself ask. She blinked, then frowned, and he could see that she was about to refuse him, but his throat was dry as Tatooine and his heart raced and he was sweating buckets. "Please, Kali."

"What's wrong with you?" Trax asked, suddenly at his side. "She's still on the Order's Most Wanted list."

"Not really," Kali broke in. "By now, Mace and the others surely know I'm here, and they haven't even tried to contact me. I suppose they have other matters on their minds."

Naturally, Traxis scowled. "Don't get complacent,  _vod."_ He looked back at Crest. "She shouldn't put herself out there. It's too risky."

"I know." Crest winced again and looked at his boots. His kit gleamed against the dull pavement; he'd been up until the wee hours scrubbing every piece of plastoid. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Kali said, squeezing his armored forearm. "I'll go with you. You don't have to do this on your own."

"If the Council sees the broadcast..." Weave began.

But she shook her head. "I can't hide from them forever. And I don't care any longer if they know I'm on Aruna. I didn't want to flaunt my choice, but...this is important."

Something in his chest relaxed a fraction, though guilt flushed through his veins. Before he could say anything, though, Milo stepped forward, speaking through a mouthful of pastry. "Can I come, too? My kit's pretty clean."

"Same here," Weave said, clasping Crest's shoulder.

Everyone looked at Traxis, who sighed and cast his eyes skyward. "I'll tag along if you want, but  _you're_ doing all the talking, Baldy."

Surrounded by his  _vode,_ by his family, Crest could breathe a little easier, and he smiled. "As if I'd let you get a word in edgewise, _Trax'ika_."

Crest stepped out onto the stage on shaky knees. Sita stood before a podium; she was decked out in full-on  _Queen Hari_ kit, complete with golden headdress and bangles glittering at her wrists. The moment she caught sight of him, she smiled, and his stupid heart fluttered. But somehow, it was easier to walk without feeling like he was going to trip, and his stride was smooth as he crossed the stage to her side.

The aide had been most displeased with the prospect of not one but four clones – and a Jedi – following Crest, but by then it was enough to know his family was rooting for him, so Crest agreed to let them remain on the edge of the stage, still within sight of the crowd and vid-crews, but not, as the aide had put it, "in the way."

Fine. Whatever. The sooner he got this over with, the better.

When he reached Sita and caught sight of the mass of people that had assembled, Crest gulped behind his bucket. The entire market square was stuffed with sentients, mostly Arunai, but the planet was a popular tourist destination, so he saw quite a few non-natives. Really, though, they all blended together when his vision swam.

Sita indicated him with a graceful turn of her wrist. "As I have said, the soldiers who fight so bravely for us are Human men, not droids, but they can be rather intimidating in their armor."

They'd gone over this at length. Crest took a deep breath and removed his helmet, tucking it neatly beneath his arm and trying desperately not to squint in the sunlight. Without the helmet, the temp-controlling properties of his kit didn't work so well, and sweat beaded on his forehead again. In an effort to look extra-neat, he'd gotten Trax to help him re-shave his head last night. Hopefully the reflection of sunlight on his skull wouldn't blind anyone.

Hushed murmurs trickled through the crowd and more than a few folks craned their necks to get a better look. It was a bit like being on display in a zoo. But he had a job to do. With a final look at his brothers and sister-in-law, watching him from not-so-afar, Crest saluted the crowd.

"Hi, there." His voice boomed across Rudral, carried by one of the hovering microphones that had been placed by the stage. "How's it going?"

Silence.  _Shab._ That didn't bode well. He took another breath and continued. "My designation is CT-5446, but my friends call me 'Crest.' You all can, too. I prefer it, actually."

A bout of laughter rippled through the crowd, and it was the good kind of laughter, not the mocking kind, which set aside some of his discomfort. Maybe he could do this. "My brothers and I," he indicated the rest of Shadow, "are really, really grateful you have opened your home to us when we needed a refuge. But the thing is," he gave a rueful smile, "I've got a  _lot_ more brothers."

An Ithorian wearing a jacket emblazoned with a well-known news agency, lifted his hand. Sita nodded to the controller beside the stage, and one of the hovering mics floated to the fellow. "Deek Both from  _HoloNet News Service_ ," he said briskly, black eyes on Crest. "Latest casualty reports from the Chancellor's office state that nearly two million clones have died since the start of the Wars. Are you and the others aware of that number? If so, what are your thoughts?"

Two million. Was it really so high? Crest couldn't hide his grimace. "No, I didn't know it was that many."

The Ithorian's throats flared. "You were not aware of how many of your 'brothers' were fighting?"

"Well, no one ever told me," Crest replied.

Another ripple moved through the crowd, though there was a confused, almost disbelieving edge to the sound. Well, let them doubt. He'd spoken the truth. Sweat began to pool at Crest's back, but he kept his stance relaxed.

Sita indicated another reporter, a Pantoran female. "Groups like CETOC – Citizens for the Ethical Treatment Of Clones – claim that the Jedi Order is using you clones as cannon-fodder. Is this true?"

Crest blinked and cast a sideways glance at Kali. The look of anger on her face did not surprise him, but at the same time, he could tell it wasn't a look directed at the reporter. "I don't know," he confessed, looking back over the crowd. "All the Jedi I've worked with have been kind, compassionate, and respectful. I know there are some bad seeds, like what happened on Umbara, but I think that's true of any group of people."

"Even clones?" the Pantoran asked.

Crest chuckled. "Well,  _I'm_ perfect, of course, but I can't say the same for my brother, Trax. He snores."

That got another laugh. Even better, Sita cast him a faint smile that he returned. He considered glancing over to gauge his scarred brother's reaction to his words, but decided against it. "Who's next?"

A Sullustan reporter spoke next. "Raka Rhamor from the  _Daily Galaxy_. Is it true you clones were created without genitalia?"

Silence fell over the audience, and Crest swore even the hovering cameras leaned in closer. Kriff, his face was hot as Mustafar after that one, but he didn't let his expression waver into embarrassment.

"Wow. Is that really your question?" He managed a chuckle. "Nothing but hard-hitting journalism over at the _Daily Galaxy_ , I see." That got a few laughs, not to mention a red flush to the Sullustan's face, so he continued. "Well, Raka Rhamor, my  _personal equipment_ isn't really any of your business, but no. Everything's fully-operational. Thank the Force."

More laughter, along with quite a few glares at the Sullustan, whose flush deepened as he furiously tapped something on his datapad. Another reporter, an Arunai man, lifted his hand. "Can you clarify what is meant by 'rapid-aging?'"

"We were engineered to age at twice the rate of normal Humans," Crest explained. "Otherwise it'd take too long to, you know, grow us from embryos and train us to shoot stuff."

The crowd murmured in disbelief, and he frowned inwardly. This kind of thing really should be common knowledge by now.  _I'm doing the right thing,_ he thought again, and squared his shoulders.

"So how old are you?"

Crest inclined his head as he did the math. His own age wasn't something he often thought about. "I'll be thirteen in a couple months. But biologically, I'm in my mid-twenties."

Shocked voices lifted through the audience as people gaped at one another and at him. The Arunai reporter nodded and continued. "Biologically, you're in your mid-twenties? How does that work, exactly?"

"Uh..." Crest glanced at Weave who frowned, and he looked back at the reporter. "Sorry, I'll have to ask my medic. That's a bit too technical for the likes of me."

The reporter smiled and shook his head as he entered information on his 'pad. "Can the rapid-aging be reversed?"

"I hope so," Crest replied. "I happen to like being alive. We all do."

* * *

The press conference continued in kind for about an hour. By the end of it, Crest was leaning over the podium, formal stance forgotten in the wake of answering what had turned out to be pretty good questions. Well, aside from that one  _di'kut_ who'd asked about his junk.  _That_ guy could go to Hoth and stay there – naked, and without so much as a hand-towel.

At last, Sita stepped forward again, lifting her hand in a call for silence. "Thank you, Crest, for your time, and your service to the Republic."

It was the signal that his role in this was over, and Crest found he was actually a little reluctant to tear himself away from the podium. "You're welcome, Sita," he said, though he immediately winced at the use of her name, in full view of her people, her guards, not to mention about a zillion HoloNet viewers.  _Fekking son of a_ shabla _nerf-herder._ "Uh...I mean, Queen Hari."

Surprisingly, no one boo'd him off the stage at his slip; rather, he caught sight of several flickers of fingers on datapads and holo-cameras, plus quite a few pretty fems batting their lashes his way.

To her credit, Sita smiled; he wasn't sure if the expression was meant for him or the audience. "Thank you all for coming here today. I hope now you can see that helping these men is a cause we can  _all_ work toward, and shape our future into one that is bright and bold."

Here, her voice deepened, resonated, and her blue eyes flashed. "I challenge the Arunai Parliament and the Republic Senate to take the necessary actions to ensure that these brave soldiers receive treatment befitting their sacrifice and their humanity."

She lifted her hand and indicated Crest, who slid into a neat parade-rest. They hadn't discussed this, but it didn't matter. He knew what to do. Her voice echoed across the market square; in his mind it reached across the galaxy.

"No clone – no  _man_ – should be relinquished to the cruel hand of fate because it is the easier choice, or because we do not want to recognize the truth of what is taking place. There is a cost to these Wars, and he stands before you. Crest is one of many. These soldiers are not droids, but men. They fight for us on the battlefield; should we not fight for them everywhere else?"

The speech ended abruptly. Sita stepped away from the podium and stood beside him, and for a second he thought she'd miscalculated the impact of her words. Then the applause started. It spread like wildfire through the crowd, and was quickly followed by cheers and whistles, and the flashing of holo-cameras appeared like lightning on the clear day. He resisted the urge to turn around and grin at Kali and his  _vode._

Instead, Crest glanced at the woman beside him. No, she was no plain woman, now, had she ever been. She was a queen. She was extraordinary, and in that moment he didn't care about any of his very good reasons; all he wanted to do was pull her in his arms and kiss her senseless. Wouldn't  _that_ make for some interesting HoloNet fodder?

But he was smarter than that. Besides, he'd turned her down. He shouldn't expect anything else from her again, and indeed, she was close to him, but they did not touch. She did not meet his eyes, only faced forward and smiled.

After a brief internal debate, Crest did the same.

* * *

_Later, and elsewhere..._

Ares caught yet another whiff of dung and livestock, wrinkled his nose, and glanced at his sister. "How long until the heat storm passes?"

"Perhaps a few hours." Clio made a hissing sound to further urge the rycrits forward, into the pens that had been constructed underground, next to her family's home. "Perhaps longer. We'll be safe in the meantime. Get the latch."

"A storm last year lasted for  _three days,"_ Doros, one of her sons, added in a smug voice. He and his twin brother, Philon, helped their mother shoo the last of the furry quadrupeds into the final pen; the creatures grunted in protest and watched Ares fasten the latch with their flat, yellow eyes.

Livestock secured, Ares dusted off his hands and gave Clio what he hoped was a passably pleasant smile. "What's next for our day?"

Both of her  _lekku_ twitched; her skin was paler than his, and more pink than coral, but their features were similar. Most who saw the siblings guessed them as such, though the lines around Clio's mouth and eyes aged her beyond her thirtieth year. She did not look at Ares, but to her boys.

"Doros, Philon; check the hatch to the surface, then go wash up for school."

Philon nodded and turned to leave, but Doros' forehead crinkled with his pout. "There's no school, Mama. The storm."

Clio sighed. "Don't lie to me, Doros. I know your classes have been moved to the shelter until the storm passes. Now run along. Papa will be cross if you're late again."

" _Faye_  doesn't have to go," Doros shot back, crossing his chubby arms and glaring up at his mother. Philon's pale blue  _lekku_ flushed indigo, but he was silent.

"Faye is a baby," Clio replied. Doros opened his mouth to argue again, but she'd apparently had enough; she stepped to him and grabbed the boy's arm, gently but firmly turning him in the direction they'd just come. "Go.  _Now._ And don't argue with me again."

The boys darted off at once, and Ares winced at the sharp edge to Clio's Ryl. The language and her tone reminded him a bit too much of their deceased mother, who'd been fond of scolding Ares. Kriff, he never should have come back here, last resort or not. He'd told himself his sister's home was just a temporary solution to his new-found homelessness, but it was a lie.

Once the twins had gone, Clio straightened and regarded her brother. "You can look after Faye while I get breakfast ready."

"Very well, but I should warn you, I have not changed a diaper in many years."

"If you don't like it, you are welcome to leave. Again."

 _Ah, there's nothing like family to warm your heart_. Ares bit back the host of sarcastic replies that entered his head and kept his tone conversational. "Not at all. I'm grateful you and your husband were able to take me in. I just don't want my ignorance of babies to do any lasting damage to your daughter."

His sister's eyes were calm, but her voice was flat. "You aren't capable of harming anyone else, Ares. Only yourself."

With that, she slipped past him and they headed back for the main homestead. The tunnels where Clio Tabora and her family lived were smooth and clean, and well maintained, but they were still underground, and the knowledge made Ares' skin crawl. He was acutely aware of the tons of dirt and rock between himself and the sky, and every inhale brought the stench of those kriffing rycrits.

And he missed the  _Raven._

It was foolish to think of his ship now. There was nothing he could do for her anyway. He'd been following what auctions he could, anxious to see if his ship had been sold, and to whom. No one, yet, but that would probably change. Likely she was being fingered by some  _sleemo_ from Black Sun, or a similar kind of crook that Bane had probably sold her to. His beloved ship. Perhaps he should have counted himself lucky to have escaped Bane's wrath with his life, but he could do nothing but mourn the loss of his freedom.

"Where is your husband?" he asked, if only to steer his thoughts to a safer place.

Clio ran a weathered hand along a seam in the tunnel walls. "Elpenor woke early, to check the seal on the far hatch. It leaked, last time. The heat was unbearable." They reached the door to her home and she palmed the lock-panel, not looking at him as she entered. "He should return soon."

It was always easier for Ares to define his sister by what she was  _not,_ and her home was no exception. The walls were bare of all but a few, posed family portraits, and a single painting of the Floating Rock Gardens. Save a single flatscreen in the far corner, there was nothing in the way of entertainment, not even so much as a holozine. The space was an open floor plan, with the sections for eating, cooking and gathering separated by the type of furniture found within; several passages at the far side of the room led to bedrooms and the 'fresher.

The kitchen was small and tidy, and reminded him a little of the galley aboard the  _Raven,_ which made his chest ache all over again. As Clio began pulling out pots and pans, she glanced at Ares. "Faye is in our bedroom."

"Alone?"

Clio's eyes narrowed a fraction but she withdrew a comlink from the pocket of her coveralls. "She's a sound sleeper, but I'd hear if there was any trouble. Any other questions about how I raise my children?"

There was no point in answering, so Ares only turned and slipped to his sister and his brother-in-law's bedroom at the far end of the homestead. This room, too, was practically devoid of personality, save a knitted blanket on the bed that he recognized as one their grandmother had made. Faye's crib sat at the foot of the bed; when he peered within, large, sleepy brown eyes blinked up at him, and the violet-skinned baby beamed.

"Eees," she burbled, lifting her arms. "Ooop!"

Ares smiled. "Good morning, little one. How are you today?"

"Da da da," she replied sagely, and he chuckled – until he smelled dirty diaper and suddenly missed the aroma of the rycrits.

The baby was heavier than he expected, though he supposed she was the appropriate size for a one year-old. As predicted, he remembered how to change a diaper, and within a few minutes Faye smelled like talcum powder and something he could only define as  _warm,_ and when he pressed her to his chest she cuddled up to him at once.

When he and Faye emerged into the main room, Clio handed him a bottle of formula. Ares sat on the couch and offered the bottle to his niece, who grabbed it and began to suckle greedily. As she ate, he flicked on the flatscreen.

Seated in his sister's home on Ryloth, his niece in his arms and the scent of frying nerf-bacon wafting through the room, the very last person he expected to see on the news was Crest.

It was some sort of press conference on Aruna; judging by the timestamp on the vid, it had taken place a few days ago. The bald clone was all easy smiles as he fielded the questions, and the audience loved every moment of it. Even the queen looked pleased. All Ares could do was gape.

"Well," Crest was saying to some reporter, "my  _personal equipment_ isn't really any of your business, but no. Everything's fully-operational. Thank the Force."

The resulting laugh from the crowd was impressive, and a smile tugged at Ares' mouth. Then the camera angle switched and he caught sight of a familiar, armored form, and something ached within his fingertips when he thought of Trax's scarred, scowling face. But this longing was useless. Traxis was farther away now than he'd ever been. The intelligent thing to do would be to put the soldier out of mind.

Something nudged his hand. Faye had finished her bottle, dropped it, and was trying to get his attention. "Eees," she insisted. "Eees!"

"Patience," Ares replied, though he held her close again.

The main door opened and the two, blue-skinned boys tumbled inside, their father, also blue-skinned, at their heels. What peace there had been was shattered as the twins ran up to their mother, shrieking about some injustice one had done to the other. Or something. Since he'd come here a few days ago, Ares had learned how to tune them out.

"Leave your mother alone," Elpenor shouted to the boys. "Change out of your work clothes and get dressed for school. I want you both ready for breakfast in five minutes, understand?"

More squabbling, but it was short-lived. Soon the boys had scurried out, and Elpenor leaned his considerable weight against the couch, shifting it in the process. The fellow was built like a brick wall. "I trust she's behaving, at least?"

"I imagine she'll spit up on me in a moment," Ares replied. "But other than that, she's perfect."

Elpenor nodded, then glanced at the flatscreen, where the Arunai queen was now speaking. "There is a cost to these Wars, and he stands before you. Crest is one of many, and these soldiers are not droids, but men. They fight for us on the battlefield; should we not fight for them everywhere else?"

"Sithspit," Elpenor scoffed. "Who cares about a bunch of Human clones? Would they rather recruit  _real_  people to fight this blasted war?"

"They  _are_  real _,_ " Ares said.

His brother-in-law's eyes narrowed. "They're cannon-fodder, grown in a lab somewhere. They may as well be droids."

It took every ounce of self-control Ares possessed to keep his voice steady. "I have worked with them, and I can assure you–"

"I'm sure you can," Elpenor broke in, lifting his eyes to the ceiling. "You like the hairy  _chizks_ , don't you?"

Clio's voice rang out from the kitchen. "Watch your language in front of Faye."

"She's a baby. She doesn't understand a word we're saying." Elpenor looked back at Ares, who'd muted the flatscreen. "Humans have enslaved  _our_ kind enough; I say it's about time the roles were reversed."

Ares' face grew hot; had he not been holding Faye, he would have jumped to his feet. "Those men should not be held accountable for the actions of their entire species."

The larger Twi'lek made a noise of disgust and glanced at the kitchen. "Do you hear your brother?"

In response, Clio stepped into the room, a plate in each hand. As she set them on the table, she glared at her husband. "Don't be stupid, El. The Human clones are not some sort of payback for any injustice done by their kind."

Well, that was a relief to hear. Ares nearly smiled at his sister, then she added, "But you're right; I'd rather ten million clones die than a handful of our own soldiers. What's the point of the clone army's existence, otherwise?"

Now he did stand, though it was slow and steady so he would not disturb his niece. "They're  _living beings,_ " he said, looking between his sister and her husband. "Every one of them has been forced into the service of the Republic. Most of them die without names – only numbers. And if they are found," he grimaced, "lacking for any reason, they are killed. They have no recourse for appeal, no legal status, and are treated as no more than living weapons."

Elpenor scoffed again, but Clio studied Ares. "Is it true, then, what I've heard? They were engineered to age twice as fast as the rest of their kind?"

How many years would Traxis have before old age took him? Would he even live long enough to grow old? Ares looked down at Faye, happily gumming her own fingers. "The men I met were no older than thirteen years."

"Thirteen...?" Elpenor's normally booming voice was hushed. He looked at his wife, whose eyes had widened as she'd frozen by the table, one hand extended in the act of setting down a plate.

Silence dominated the room. Ares did not miss the way that both his sister and her husband stared at the muted flatscreen, where the story had shifted to cover the Wars at large. An image of thousands of white-armored clone soldiers, marching in unison, filled the screen, and Ares shivered. Perhaps anxious for more attention, Faye let out a soft coo, drawing the gaze of each adult.

The silence was shattered, however, when the door to the boys' room slid open and the twins tumbled into the living area, tugging a piece of fabric between them.

"That's my shirt, Dor!"

"Nuh-uh, it's mine! I'm the oldest!"

"Only by three minutes!"

" _Mama!_ "

Clio seemed to snap out of her startled trance first, and snatched the object of debate from both boys' hands. "Sit," she said, pointing to the table. "Eat your breakfast –  _quietly._ You're bothering your uncle."

The boys gave him sour looks, but Ares kept his mouth shut as Clio and Elpenor began to wrangle their sons to the dining table. Instead, Ares looked at Faye again. He skimmed his index finger beneath her palm, and she smiled as she tried to grip it with her tiny fist. She had her mother's ears and – he thought with a hint of pride – his nose. Her  _lekku_ were no more than purple buds. It was impossible to imagine himself or Clio – or Trax, or any of the other clones, for that matter – as ever being so small.

 _So many possibilities,_ he thought as Faye slobbered on his fingertip.  _What will you become?_

"Ares."

He glanced up. His sister and her family had settled down to eat; Clio had laid out a plate for him as well, and her gaze upon him was not without warmth. Of course, she may have been looking at her daughter. Careful not to disturb the youngling, Ares stepped over to the table, and took a seat.

* * *

_Approximately one month later..._

Obi-Wan Kenobi stood silently while waves of agitation, passion, and resolve swept through the Grand Convocation Chamber as Queen Hari's voice echoed through the rotunda.

"I challenge the Arunai Parliament and the Republic Senate to take the necessary actions to ensure that these brave soldiers receive treatment befitting their sacrifice and their humanity."

It was a speech he'd heard many times by now, though it never failed to move him deeply, for all that he took pains to keep his emotions where they belonged – beneath the surface. There was too much relying upon his – and the Order's, by extension – impartiality for his face to reveal his thoughts.

In many ways, he was proud of the young queen. Sita had done a great deal of growing in the years since he'd last seen her. However, the image broadcast by the HoloNet did not set him at ease. Every time he saw Kali, standing to the far side of the stage as Crest spoke, he winced internally.

She meant well, but her appearance had created quite a stir over the past month. While Kali had been the subject of more than a few Council discussions, Mace had ultimately decided that the Order's resources were better spent pursuing other matters. Besides, Obi-Wan had faith in her. Kali would make the right choice.

But he could not stop himself from wondering at what cost.

The speech ended. The holographic image of the queen, magnified twenty times over to be visible to every senator, flickered off, and the lights lifted, casting the assembled body in stark relief. The ensuing debate began immediately.

These speeches, Obi-Wan had heard many times, too. Ever since the Arunai queen's bold statement, ever since Crest had  _humanized_ the clone soldiers to the Republic's citizens, he'd not been able to avoid the arguments.

_The clones should be given citizenship and be treated as any world would treat its brave soldiers._

_The clones are no more than droids with skin, living weapons to be used to keep the Republic safe. Even the Jedi see this!_

_Not all Jedi; the Jedi on Aruna has defected due to the treatment of the clone soldiers. How many more will follow in Knight Halcyon's footsteps?_

_The Jedi serve the Republic – all of us, by extension. The actions of one mean nothing on the galactic scale. It is the same for the clones._

_They are living, breathing men._

_They are tools to do with as we wish._

Obi-Wan was no empath, but the emotions that this debate elicited always sat heavily on his shoulders and made him feel so much older than his years. He took a deep, steadying breath, and tried not to miss the focused frenzy of a firefight. Hopefully Cody, at least, was enjoying some downtime on the Core world.

"We cannot shoulder the financial burden of caring for these clones in any capacity that extends beyond that of the military," a Gran senator was saying. "Already this war is bleeding the Republic dry!"

Senator Bail Organa's reply reverberated through the massive chamber. "We already shoulder the 'burden' of their medical care on the battlefield, not to mention what supplies they need to fight for us. They are already our 'burden.'"

The Gran scoffed. "They were created to fight and die. Nothing more. It is a harsh truth, but a truth, nonetheless. We have more important matters to attend."

"The cost of rehabilitation – on this scale – would be astronomical," a Muun senator added.

Beside Obi-Wan, Anakin straightened from his lean against the observation area's wall, and peered at a very specific spot below. His Force-presence briefly spiked with emotion before the younger man carefully shuttered it away. But Obi-Wan could see where he was looking and could hear what he heard.

"There are several organizations on Naboo that have volunteered to provide post-military care for the clone soldiers," Senator Amidala replied with her usual composure. "I have received word that there are similar groups on Alderaan, Chandrila, and of course, Aruna."

She nodded to Bail, whose head inclined. Mon Mothma, the Chandrilan senator, nodded as well. "Other systems have begun discussing the matter," she said in her refined accent. "It seems many Republic citizens were not aware of the plight of the clone troopers, and have shown an interest in compensating them in some way for their dedicated service."

"'Dedicated service?'" The senator from Lianna, a graceful Human female, sneered. "They are  _programmed_ to fight. They have no true loyalty. All of their thoughts have been implanted into their genetic structure."

Anakin frowned and leaned close so only Obi-Wan could hear. "I think Rex could shoot some holes in that logic."

"Cody would have a few thoughts on the matter as well," Obi-Wan replied.

Amidala's voice rang out brightly. "With respect, Senator Kin, I have personally worked with many clone soldiers, in several hostile situations, and they have proven themselves to be loyal and brave men, fully capable of free-thinking."

"Yes," the Liannan senator replied. "We are all well-aware of your penchant for 'hostile situations.'"

Small pockets of laughter rippled across the crowd, and Obi-Wan did not miss the way Anakin's mouth pressed into a thin line. In that moment the Force swirled about the younger man like a dark cloak.

"Order!" Mas Amedda's baritone swelled above the chuckles. The Vice Chair excelled at bringing errant senators to heel.

Only when the room had quieted did the Supreme Chancellor speak. Palpatine stood before the elevated podium, the picture of calm authority despite the lines etched between his brows. "This debate is a healthy and natural one. The concern expressed on both sides – for our brave clone soldiers and for our great Republic's well-being – is admirable.

"However, this is not, I fear, an issue that can be settled today. I will appoint a group of interested parties to formulate a plan of action and bring it to a vote." He indicated Sly Moore, standing at his side. "Contact my aide if you wish to participate."

With that, the Vice Chair ended the session, and the rotunda began to empty as the senators and their staff filed out. Anakin glanced at Obi-Wan. "What do you make of all that?"

"The Chancellor said many things," Obi-Wan replied after a moment's thought. "But I fear there was little meaning in any of it."

"He just wants more information before the Senate votes on anything," Anakin said, frowning. "You make it sound like he doesn't care."

There was something like hurt in the younger man's voice, and disappointment threaded though his Force-presence. It was disconcerting, sometimes, how quickly Anakin always rushed to the Chancellor's defense.

However, before Obi-Wan could reply, his comlink buzzed. As he read the message, Anakin peered over his shoulder to get a look. "The Chancellor wants a meeting with the Council?"

"A bit short notice," Obi-Wan replied, tucking his comlink away and glancing at his former apprentice. "Well, there go our sparring plans, I'm afraid. I trust you'll find an acceptable way to spend your afternoon?"

"I'll manage."

Obi-Wan knew exactly what to make of the faint smile that tugged the corner of Anakin's mouth, and it was more difficult than it should have been to set his misgivings aside and focus on the task at hand.

 _Later_ , he told himself as he hurried to the Chancellor's office.  _I'll talk to him later._

* * *

Next time: Hang on to your  _shebs,_ 'cause  _shizk_  is about to hit the fan.


	41. Chapter Forty

Lyrics:[ "Beautiful Calm Driving," by Sia, from ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vE8V0E_QfbQ&index=41&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp) _[Some People Have Real Problems](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vE8V0E_QfbQ&index=41&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp). _ I don't know if anyone's paying attention to these songs, but if you only pick one to listen to, make it this one.

* * *

**Chapter Forty**

_You're a stranger to me._

_You're a danger to me._

Several minutes later, Obi-Wan entered the plush office of the Supreme Chancellor, where Mace Windu and Yoda were already seated. Despite the  _[PRIORITY URGENT]_  marker on the meeting's invitation, the Chancellor himself had not yet arrived.

"Ah, good. I was worried I'd be late," Obi-Wan said as he crossed the room.

Mace, naturally, slanted him a warning look, but the Korunn Jedi's reply was even. "Were you in the Senate Chamber?"

"Yes." Obi-Wan slid into the chair beside Mace. "Anakin and I watched quite a lively debate."

Mace's brows drew together. "There has been much of that lately. More so than usual."

"Much trouble, Knight Halcyon has caused," Yoda said, nodding once. "Seems to realize it, she does not."

"I disagree," Mace replied. "As I've said, she knew what she was doing the moment she visibly sided with Queen Hari. I believe she has lost her way."

"Turned to the dark side, you think she has?"

It was a question the Council had danced around several times, but no one had outright asked. Why Yoda chose to do so now, in the quiet of the Chancellor's office, was beyond Obi-Wan's understanding.

Mace did not answer for a long, long moment. Too long, Obi-Wan thought, for comfort. Just as he was about to speak, the Korunn Jedi Master sighed. "There has always been a darkness within her, but until recently, I never believed she would succumb to it."

Obi-Wan inhaled, working to gather his calm. Although he knew Kali better than almost anyone, he needed to set his personal feelings aside and look at the matter objectively. "I don't believe Kalinda set out to cause such a stir when she...left," he said slowly. "It is my understanding she was simply concerned for the well-being of her captain. I believe it was love that compelled her, not the dark side."

The other Masters exchanged looks before Mace actually shifted in his chair. "She admitted to loving the clone when we last saw her, right before she relinquished her role in the Order and aligned herself with dissidents."

"Prove, her actions do, that her relationship with the clone has led her down the wrong path," Yoda said.

"To say nothing of what that relationship has done to the clone," Mace added in a dark voice. "Master Vos' report from Sector Nine was...troubling. A Force-sensitive clone with little to no training, set loose on the galaxy." He laced his fingers together a little tighter than normal. "There are too many unknowns in that situation. I still believe we should send someone to search for the captain."

"Search where, should we?" Yoda replied, nodding to the panoramic transparisteel window. Beyond the lines of airspeeders and the jagged teeth of buildings, the sky was already growing dark with the late hour.

"If neither Kali nor Quinlan Vos could find Captain Stonewall," Obi-Wan added gently, "I don't know who else would be capable."

"Too many unknowns," Mace murmured again.

Yoda sighed deeply. "Fallen, another Jedi has. Dark times, are these."

Obi-Wan cleared his throat. "Kalinda will return. She told me as much. It may not be in the way we would like, but she is still alive, at least. A great many Jedi cannot say the same."

Mace's face was stony. "Even if she comes back, the damage is already done. She will never be the Jedi she was."

"Beyond our reach, she is," Yoda added. "Focus on those who have not fallen, we should."

A familiar presence entered the edges of Obi-Wan's awareness, and all three Jedi Masters sat up a bit straighter as the Chancellor entered the room, flanked as ever by a Coruscant Guard escort. None of his usual retinue was present, so he was alone – as much as he probably ever could be.

"Thank you all for coming on such short notice. My most sincere apologies for keeping you waiting." He gave a small, wry smile as he settled at his desk and laced his fingers. "Is it presumptuous of me to assume you know what I wish to discuss?"

"Not at all, Chancellor," Obi-Wan replied. "I believe we were both in the same Senate session just now."

A pained look flashed across Palpatine's face. "Indeed. While I am, of course, quite concerned for the well-being of the clone troopers, I cannot help but feel that Queen Hari's call to action will only divide the army's support systems. The Republic must stand united on all fronts; now is not the time to quibble over minutiae."

Cody. Rex. Stonewall. The countless other clones Obi-Wan had worked with. It was not their faces – or face – that filtered through his memory, but each of their unique Force-presences. Whatever their methods, Queen Hari and Kalinda were correct about one thing: these were  _men_ , not minutiae.

But now was not the time or place to reveal his feelings, so he inclined his head in a polite nod meant to acknowledge without agreement. Mace and Yoda, too, nodded, and the Chancellor continued. "Queen Hari has always been a passionate speaker," he said mildly. "She is a credit to her system. And I do not doubt her sole intention is to better the lives of the clone troopers she seems to have grown so fond of. But I wonder if she did not form these most recent sentiments entirely on her own."

He paused before adding, "I could not help but notice Knight Halcyon's presence in the recording."

The truth of the matter, at last. Obi-Wan took another calming breath to fortify his mental and emotional strength. Force knew he would probably need it.

Mace, as ever, favored a direct approach. "We also believe that Kalinda Halcyon has had a hand in swaying Queen Hari's opinions. Shortly after she left Coruscant, we received a document from Queen Hari that indicates Halcyon's clone troopers have officially been granted asylum on Aruna. Legally, they are no longer considered property of the GAR, and cannot be forced back into military service."

"I would very much like to see this document," Palpatine said after a beat. "In the meantime, what is the Order's response to Knight Halcyon's actions?"

Even for a Jedi Master, Mace Windu's sudden stillness was impressive. "The situation is complex. It seems that she has...defected from the Order."

 _Defected._ The word stung, even though Obi-Wan knew it was not entirely true, at least according to Kali. But there was really no other way to frame her actions, particularly with a non-Jedi.

However, he'd not breathed a word about her pregnancy. That, he'd decided, was far too personal of a detail to be shared by anyone except his friend.

The Chancellor's brows lifted. "Indeed? That is troubling to hear." He was silent a moment, giving Obi-Wan the impression that he was carefully considering his next words. "Forgive me, my old friends, for I realize you are caught within a delicate situation, but given the current state of affairs, would it not be advisable to forcibly bring Knight Halcyon back into the Order's custody?"

Obi-Wan blinked once, not quite believing what he'd heard.  _Arrest Kali?_ Only through the long years of his role as negotiator and peacekeeper was he able to keep his voice steady. "Please let us worry about Knight Halcyon. After all, Chancellor, you have much bigger concerns on your plate."

But the Chancellor's response held an edge of authority and, though Obi-Wan could have perhaps imagined it, a trace of warning. "Very well. But I would ask that the Council consider the wider repercussions of Knight Halcyon's conduct, and act accordingly."

"When a Jedi is involved," Mace's voice was firm, "the Council will always act as it sees fit."

Palpatine nodded; Obi-Wan recognized it as that same gesture of acknowledgment, not agreement, and although he tried, he could not read anything within the Chancellor's eyes as Palpatine continued. "I fear that if the situation proceeds unchecked, the display we witnessed in the Chamber today will only escalate, and the Separatists will strike while we are divided."

The word hung in the air, and though the Chancellor did not say as much, it was a clear indication that the meeting was over. The three Jedi rose, bowed, and slipped out, their boots silent on the plush carpet. Obi-Wan was last to leave. As he passed by the Coruscant Guards, he glanced back at Palpatine.

Still seated, the Chancellor had withdrawn a datapad from his desk and was perusing it. There was nothing in his eyes, his face, or even the lines of his body that revealed anything of his inner self.

Nothing.

Somehow, that was more disquieting than any alternative. A chill passed through Obi-Wan before the Guards stepped forward and almost-but-not-quite forced him to cross the threshold, and the door closed.

* * *

Not until Palpatine sensed that the Jedi were out of the Senate building did he allow himself a frown. Having dismissed his guards, he was alone in his office, so he rose and faced the window, overlooking the darkening sky.

Queen Hari was not capable enough to form any true opinion on her own; no, it was the insipid female Jedi who had thrust him into such an irksome situation. Public sentiment for the clones was already swaying toward  _sympathetic,_ no doubt due to the mindless yammering of Halcyon's bald clone pet. A few jokes and smiles, and the Republic citizens had fallen under the spell of an engineered life-form whose existence was nothing more than a means to an end.

A soft  _ding_ on his computer console indicated a new message: copies of the document from Queen Hari. At least the Jedi were efficient in this regard. He scanned the documents quickly; he would instruct his legal staff to look it over, but as far as he could tell it was unassailable. So Halcyon had discovered a loophole. An attempt to forcefully recall her cannon-fodder men back to the Core for justice would be considered an act of war between the Republic and Aruna, not to mention political suicide on his part given the current sentiment for the clones.

There would come a day where he could act without impunity, but it was not today.  _Soon._

Palpatine turned away from his computer and faced the Coruscant skyline once more. Of course, he was not without other means of action. An idea occurred to him, and his mouth twisted into a smile. The clone operative had been most effective of late, dispatching targets without hesitation and with an efficiency that, had it not been a mere flesh-droid, would have inspired thoughts of further, Force-related training.

But Force-sensitive or not, it was one of millions, thus expendable. Should it be killed in this task, that was no great loss; should it be discovered by the Jedi, its only ties were to Dooku. " _This is what happens when we divide our loyalties,"_ Palpatine could say to the Senate. " _Like the Republic, our brave soldiers need a single path to follow. Only through clarity of purpose can we hope for victory."_

Or some such drivel. It mattered little what was said, in the end.

He entered a quick message on his datapad, encrypted it, and sent it along. It would be routed through a tangle of channels, both Republic and Separatist, until its origins were completely obscured. The end result, though, would be simple.

_Eliminate Jedi Knight Kalinda Halcyon._

* * *

_Elsewhere..._

Shadow slammed his fists against the wall again and again and again.

The only result was blood on his hands.

No amount of shouting, no barrage of fury or force put so much as a dent in the structure. Shaking, exhausted, he collapsed to his knees. "Please," he whispered to the unyielding stone wall in his mind's eye. "Please show me. Something. Anything."

The wall stood, silent.

Something buzzed. Immediately, Shadow pulled himself from his trance, blinking to clear his head before he reached for the comlink he'd set beside him on the ship's bunk. His hands were still scrubbed clean from his shower not long ago and he was alone in the guest cabin aboard the stolen freighter. These days, unless he was with a target, he was always alone.

He frowned at the new message and the accompanying coordinates. Assassinate a kriffing Jedi? Was Tyranus insane? Even if Shadow could hope to defeat a Jedi in combat, this was a clear act of treason.

There was nothing for it. These orders were far, far beyond unorthodox, and Shadow decided he had a right to request clarification. He'd accepted every previous order without question, after all, but this was a hyperlane too far.

After he sent his request the reply was almost instantaneous, but still perplexing.

During the last two months, Shadow had not had time or inclination to explore the HoloNet. The few occasions where he'd thought to look something up, nothing in the civilian world had caught his interest. After the almost run-in with Captain  _Jaig_  Eyes and his men, Shadow had tried – and failed – to access GAR channels on the non-military ship, and when he'd inquired as to why he could not, Lord Tyranus had stated he was to remain focused only on his orders.

So it was something of a surprise to have his current objective supplemented with a HoloNet news blurb.

_Witnesses report seeing Jedi Knight Kalinda Halcyon using what is believed to be a "Force-push" against a squad of GAR soldiers after they attempted to detain her on the Coruscant Guard barracks' landing platform. The Coruscant Guard commander declined to comment, but other eyewitnesses indicated that Halcyon and three unmarked clone troopers fled the area after the attack. When questioned about the event, including Halcyon's potential motives for defection, the Jedi Council also declined to comment, stating only that it was "an internal affair of the Order."_

"An internal affair of the Order," he said aloud, frowning. What the kriff did that mean? Was it Tyranus' way of telling him not to ask any further questions? Jedi-business was not something clones generally got involved in; at least, he  _thought_ they didn't. Shaking his head, Shadow read the blurb again.

So Knight Halcyon used the Force on a squad of clones. But why were they attempting to detain her?

More Jedi-business, no doubt. Perhaps, since the Corrie Guard had been unable to handle her, he was being called in. The datestamp on the story was from about two months ago. She'd been on the run for about as far back as he could remember.

Odd.

Something like a warning coiled in the back of his mind, and his heartbeat kicked up its pace. He sent his confirmation of the orders along and hurried to the cockpit on bare feet. The only terminal capable of accessing the HoloNet was here; he took a seat in the nav chair, called up the search function, and entered the Jedi's name.

There was little information about Knight Halcyon, but he didn't care about her meager record of service or her knee injury – though that would prove useful knowledge when he tracked her down. All he wanted was an image. Those he found were grainy group shots showing a petite, dark-haired woman in a mix of other Jedi. None revealed her face in any detail. Gritting his teeth, he continued his search, until at last...

One image, still a bit blurry but clear enough for him to see her dark eyes, and the curve of her face as she grinned. Kriff, she was young. Maybe a teenager, judging by the Padawan braid that hung beside one ear. A pale-haired man was beside her, one arm curled around her shoulders. Both stood frozen in time, smiling at Shadow. The date on this pic was nearly twenty years ago, from some account of a terrorist's lifetime of crime. Apparently the fellow had murdered the blond male Jedi.

Shadow didn't give a fek about the older Jedi. He was dead. He didn't matter.

Kalinda Halcyon, however...

He studied her face. Young though she was in this pic, there was still something familiar about her. Something about her eyes... He was reminded of how he'd felt about the bartender Jes, back on Eriadu. Almost right, but not quite.

But this, too, didn't matter. It couldn't matter. Kalinda Halcyon was a traitor and he had the orders to prove it. Shadow entered the provided coordinates on the nav: Aruna, in the Mid Rim. Only a few hours' journey. He set the autopilot and slipped back to the cabin, where he stowed his gear. Best get kitted up now. He had a Jedi to kill.

* * *

Kali wiped the sweat off her brow and bowed to her former apprentice. "That's actually kind of fun when I don't get my ass kicked in the first five minutes."

A small smile quirked Honi's mouth as she clipped her saber to her belt. "I imagine it helps that you're using a properly-sized weapon."

Though Kali still wore Jonas' old saber, the one she'd built as a teenager really  _was_ a better fit. Nodding, Kali deactivated her weapon as well. Once the blue beam vanished, the training-ground was bathed in twilight. The moon was already brilliant; a silver coin hanging over the mountains against a backdrop of darkening sky.

"You did very well this time," Honi added as she stowed her own saber. "I trust that means your knee is...?"

"Fan-kriffing-tastic, thanks to you." Kali tugged up her leggings to reveal the raised, pink scar from her surgery, the one that crossed over the old scar and grew smaller each day.

The copper-haired woman made a noncommittal sound and pressed her palm over Kali's knee, and a familiar, cool tingle immediately spread through the area. "The cells are nearly fully repaired," Honi murmured, almost to herself. "If we continue the same regimen of healing sessions, you should be at full capacity within a few weeks."

While her former apprentice studied her, Kali took a deep breath. During the twilight hours, traces of the day's intense heat still hung in the air even as summer had just barely begun to fade into autumn. It would not be until later, in the hour or so before dawn, after the bulk of the darkness had passed, that the air would be truly cool, heralding the change of seasons. Kali knew this all-too-well. She spent many of her nights outside, usually in the garden or here on the rooftop training-ground. Too many nights, perhaps. But sleep had not come to her easily since...

"...you alright?"

Kali blinked and realized Honi now stood before her, frowning, so she gave the closest approximation of a smile she could manage these days. "Just fine, Honi."

Honi's brow furrowed and her expression showed she wasn't fooled for a moment. But her voice was uncommonly gentle as they began to cross the training-yard to the stairwell. "You need more rest. You both do."

Kali tried to smile again, and failed. "I know."

They parted ways outside of the rooms Sita had given Kali. Room _s_ , in the plural. Sita had been most insistent that Kali begin setting up a nursery, though now it was little more than an empty room adjacent to the room where she slept. The clones were just a corridor away; Honi and Zara weren't far, either. Even the mildest brush with the Force would reveal the presences of so many people that she loved, and who loved her.

She leaned against the nursery's doorway and tried to think of practical matters. Where the crib should go – once she got one. And she should probably start stockpiling diapers. She remembered hearing other mothers discuss diapers like they were more valuable than spice.

But the soon-to-be-nursery was dark and empty, and she could not convince herself to think more of the future than the next couple of hours.

Closing her eyes, Kali took another breath and reached out through the Force, as she did several times a day, sometimes multiple times an hour. She caught herself searching for his presence at the oddest moments: sipping a cup of tea; combing her hair; changing into his old shirt that she wore to bed each night. But the result was always the same. The thread that had once bound her to Stonewall drifted in the void and she could find no trace of his bright spirit.

No amount of searching, in the Force or otherwise, had revealed his whereabouts. At this point, she did not know what more she could do, where she could look, or even  _how_. Everyone, her own mind included, told her he was gone and she needed to move forward.

Kali turned away from the nursery and headed for the 'fresher. She tossed aside her sweaty clothes and set the shower to as hot as she could stand, hoping to lose herself in the act of getting clean.

It was strange to trace the swell of her belly, which grew more prominent each day. She was nearing the end of her first trimester and aside from a great deal of nausea, the pregnancy hadn't been too troubling. She pressed her palms against her stomach and tried to sense her child; she found a faint pulse of life, but no true awareness. Not yet. Soon, she hoped.

"You're a sweet one, aren't you? Letting me have an easy time while you're growing big and strong. Your dad would approve."

 _Kriff_. At this, her eyes pricked hot and her throat tightened. She clenched her jaw in an effort to stave off the tears and distracted herself with washing her hair.

Several minutes later, she stood at the sink, a towel wrapped around her torso, brushing her teeth. Her thoughts drifted, inevitably, toward her husband.

When she felt his presence, at first she thought she was hallucinating. She'd done it before.

But no.

There was still a brightness to his spirit, but it was a sharp sort, like a blade's edge. The presence that she found was fiercely angled, invasive rather than inquiring, and rippling with malicious intent.

But it was still  _Stonewall_. She would know him anywhere, in any state. Mouth full of toothpaste, Kali stared at her reflection without seeing it and sought her husband again.

_Stonewall?_

The only reply was a jab of realization, followed by confusion, though both emotions were quickly subsumed with his considerable focus and determination. Those were familiar, but she could get no true sense of his thoughts, not like she'd used to. His mind suddenly closed to her but his presence was close, and her lips parted as shock rolled through her. The realization settled in, and with it, her body's reaction: her stomach clenched, her vision swam, and she gripped the sink's marbled edge lest she topple backward. Stonewall was on Aruna. He was coming here. For her.

Quinlan's words echoed in her mind.  _A monster._  Blood painted the ceiling of a Kaminoan lab. Milo now bore a scar that he would wear forever.

Stonewall was coming here and the Force sang,  _Run._

* * *

The only clothes she could find were the dirty robes she'd just tossed aside, but she didn't care. Within three minutes Kali was dressed and hurrying through the palace halls, shielded with the Force, her sabers swaying at her belt. It wasn't that late; the guys were still awake but she passed by the clones' quarters. If they discovered what she was planning they would want to come, and if they did, she  _knew_ it would end badly. Their intentions would be pure, but whatever had happened to Stone was not something his brothers were equipped to handle.

Her husband needed a Jedi.

Sita had a fondness for fast speeders, so there were a fair number in the palace hangar. Kali selected the fastest that would seat two and Force-persuaded the guards to look the other way so she would not be hindered by their well-meaning questions. All of this happened too fast for her to measure; her body moved through the necessary steps to get her away from the city as quickly as possible, because her mind was otherwise occupied.

 _I'm here, Stonewall,_ she called to him.  _I'm coming for you._

There was no bright reply, no delighted, teasing brush against her thoughts as he had done so often before. A spike of wary interest signaled his recognition of her call, but beyond that there was only a shadow in her mind where Stonewall had been. Then he was gone, as if he'd only been a figment of her imagination. But she knew he was still out there, somewhere close. True fear began to settle in the pit of her stomach. If she was wrong, it was not only her life at stake.

But there could be no room in her heart for doubt. The moment she was in the Rudral city streets and clear of the palace grounds, Kali gunned the engine and sped into the night.

The shadow followed.


	42. Chapter Forty-One

Lyrics: ["Strangers," by Seven Lions, with Myon & Shane 54, featuring Tove Lo.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xfFBP4JQ1jQ&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp&index=42)

* * *

**Chapter Forty-One**

_All the little things are gone,_

_The things we used to be._

_Nobody could take us down,_

_There was only you and me._

_Earlier..._

Shadow had never killed a Jedi before.  _Why_  he had to do this, well... Perhaps Halcyon had turned traitor, and Tyranus was hoping to nip the problem in the bud. Certainly her actions – fleeing Corrie with a squad of clones – meant she'd done  _something_  wrong.

But in the end, questioning orders was not conducive to Shadow's sanity, so on the journey to Aruna, he focused on "how" rather than "why."

Though he had the Force, he did not think his skill with the energy was on par with a Jedi's, which meant he'd have to rely on other tactics to complete his assignment. From what he could tell, Knight Halcyon was a petite woman; he had quite a bit more muscle and bulk. Plus, according to her record she had a bum knee. If it came to a physical fight, Shadow could easily defeat her.

But she would likely be aware of her shortcomings and be prepared to compensate, either with the Force or other tricks he did not yet know. In the end, his best bet was stealth, followed by a hard, fast strike. If he could overwhelm her with blaster fire before she had a chance to defend herself, his mission would be successful.

After setting down on the outskirts of Rudral, Aruna's capital city, he ensured his weapons were fully charged and strapped a few extra power packs to his belt, just in case. There was no one in the immediate area as he cloaked himself with the Force and readied his speeder bike. Within moments he was speeding down the empty road.

Even in the twilight, Rudral glittered. He'd landed the ship some distance away, so it would be a bit of a drive to reach the city, but that was preferred; otherwise he'd have to deal with whatever local travel restrictions were in place, which would take time. Shadow wanted this assignment to be over already.

 _And for what?_ He frowned at the lightpoles on either side of the road as he swept past.  _Where will I go from here?_ Another mission. Another assassination, until...well, until he was the one to fall. The idea of his own death should have bothered him, but he felt nothing more than mild indifference. He told himself that there was already so much blood on his hands, more would not matter. His own or someone else's; none of it mattered.

Shadow was a soldier. The last two months had shown him such a position was a means to an end.

Perhaps five minutes into his journey he reached out with the Force to get a better sense of the area. He'd done something similar before, many times. Force-recon, he'd come to think of it. Quite useful when stealth was necessary.

Except he'd never hunted a Jedi.

The answering brush against Shadow's consciousness hit him like a shot to the chest. He gasped behind his bucket and the bike swerved madly for a few seconds before he regained control and halted the karking thing. Despite his body's intense reaction, it was just a nudge through the Force, edged with disbelief and sated with raw, unfettered hope.

 _Hope._ The Jedi  _hoped_ he'd come to kill her?

Another tendril of Force-energy reached for him, tentatively, but still shivering with emotions he recognized. No, not just emotions...

All of this Jedi was vaguely familiar, like a song he'd heard long ago, but couldn't place any words to. Even so, he tried to  _remember._ Dark eyes. Dark hair. Feminine lips curved into a wry smile. His chest shrank and tightened, or perhaps his heart was trying to burst free. Even the gentle query sent a strange thrill of anticipation across his skin, beneath the sheltering layer of his armor, and his blood quickened in his veins.

Suddenly it was difficult to breathe, so he ripped off his bucket and gulped down the cooling, twilight air, hoping to clear his head. Instinct urged him to reach out with the Force again, to get a sense of whether or not his target was coming for  _him_ , but he fought the feeling.

Shadow rubbed his forehead with his gloved hands. Maybe he was more tired than he realized.  _Should have caffed up before setting out._

He chastised himself for his foolishness in thinking he could use the Force to sneak up on a kriffing  _Jedi_ , but there was nothing to be done about it now. Halcyon knew he was coming, but that was likely all she knew. Shadow was the only Force-sensitive clone in the galaxy, which meant he still had something of an advantage. She would probably not know what to make of him.

When he felt her Force-presence reach for his again, he was able to steel himself against any sort of reaction, but was not able to prevent her from peering within his thoughts, just for a second. A sliver of light appeared at the base of the wall, and he felt rather than heard the question in her words.  _Stone wall?_

Milo had said much the same thing back on Kamino, but Shadow had no clue what to make of any of it. The only stone wall he knew of existed in his mind...

Something like dread clutched at his gut and sent it roiling. Immediately, he closed his mind to the Jedi's. What the fek was going on? Did Kalinda Halcyon kriffing  _know_ him? If she did, it would have to be from Before; he'd met no other Jedi since waking up on Kamino. Stone wall. Milo's words, as well. Did she know Milo, too?

When her presence sought his again, it was closer and getting more so with each moment.  _I''m here,_ she called to him through the Force.  _Stone wall. I'm coming for you._

 _Fekking son of a shabla nerf-herder._ Gritting his teeth, Shadow shoved his bucket back on and revved the bike's engine, steering it back down the empty road. The coordinates he'd been given would have led him to Rudral, but her Force-signature told him she was on her way out of the city. Toward him. Alone.

 _Stupid,_ he wanted to think, but his hands trembled on the steering yoke and his heart hammered in his throat, and it was all he could do not to reach out to her again. Instead, he forced himself to urge the bike along faster. The ground sped beneath him and he leaned forward, angling his body to cut through the darkness like a blade. As he went, he was able to shake away some of his agitation and focus on his mission. So his hopes at stealth were blown. Fine. He could still do this if he was careful, if he was strong. She was a Jedi, but she was mortal. Her dead Master was proof that Jedi could be killed. Fek, the kriffing Wars were proof enough of that.

There were so many unknowns, but Shadow still had his orders.

* * *

Not until Kali was about three klicks from the temple of Chamunda's Tears did she stop her speeder along the side of the road. This far away from the city, it was not paved, and wound through the rocky ground until it disappeared in the mountains that always seemed to be just on the horizon. The ground was open here, stretching out for about half a klick on all sides, and there were only a few small hills. The Force told her no one was around; perhaps the closest people were in the temple. Hopefully they would stay there. Another brush with the Force indicated Stonewall would arrive within a few minutes, so she settled onto a nearby rock, drew the Force around her like a cloak, and waited.

Perhaps a better Jedi would have been able to meditate, but all she could manage was to keep her breathing measured and her heartbeat steady.

She felt him before she heard his vehicle. As before, his was not a normal Force-presence any longer, but a shadow of one, a void where something familiar should have been, though it was impossible for her to consider him objectively. He'd shut most of himself off from the world, and her heart ached when she sensed flickers of fear within the barriers he'd erected. The growl of his speeder bike strengthened until she caught the flash of metal beneath the moon...

Then her husband was only a few meters away. It took every iota of her self-control not to call his name.

As he halted the bike, she studied what he had become. His armor was a dark, gleaming gray, all angles and sharp edges, the likes of which she'd never seen. Still shielded from detection, Kali hugged her knees to her chest and watched him dismount. There was a wary set to his shoulders that she'd never seen and his steps were too fluid and predatory.

At first he did not move far from the bike and his hands hovered over the blasters he wore at each hip, and the Force flared from him as he searched for her. She allowed him to briefly touch her presence before closing herself away and waiting to see what he would do.

He visibly started, taking one step backward before drawing his blaster pistols and swiveling his head. "Show yourself, Jedi."

Even the mic in his helmet distorted his voice differently than in his old kit. Stonewall's voice, but not. She'd heard it in every state, but never like this. There had never been hate in his voice before. Kali forced herself to be still and clenched her jaw against the sob that threatened to burst free.

Stonewall – or Not-Stonewall – paced forward carefully, every sense clearly alert as he drew his blasters, and even from here she could see how his fingers rested upon the triggers of both weapons.

There was no restraint in his Force-presence now as it sought her with fierce eagerness; a mockery of the passion they'd once shared. "I know you're here," he called again. "Stop kriffing hiding and face me."

Frustration swelled behind the words, propelled like heated air by his growing anger. At one point he came to a halt before her, just over an arm's length away, still searching. His emotions buffeted the calm she'd tried to erect, and tears began to prick her eyes. Her husband stood so close, but she was starting to understand how far she had to go to reach him.

When he stalked away again, toward another rocky outcropping, Kali slipped off the boulder and dropped her shield. She said, softly, "Here I am, Stonewall."

He whirled at the sound of her voice but did not immediately begin firing as she'd feared he might. They faced one another, perhaps four meters apart, bathed in the light of the moon.

"It's not personal, I promise." His voice was rough as he raised his blasters. "I'm just following orders."

 _Orders? Whose kriffing orders?_  Kali swallowed the question for now and shook her head. "You don't want to kill me, Stonewall."

"You don't know anything about me."

Despite her growing fear, despite the severity of the situation, Kali laughed. But it was a fragmented, bitter sound. "I know you better than I know myself."

His reply was a growl. "Drop your weapons and surrender."

"I can't do that." She fixed her gaze on his helmet's visor, where she thought his eyes would be if she could see them."This isn't who you are, Stonewall. This isn't what you want."

"Don't fekking tell me what I want," he shot back, and aimed both blasters at her heart.

But he didn't fire. Nor did he shut away his Force-presence, distracted and upset as he was, and she sensed confusion and a fear that dwarfed her own, all woven through his ragged spirit. Shadows clung to her husband, marring the brightness he'd once exuded, and only when a cool breeze touched Kali's cheeks did she realize she was crying.

"Please," she whispered, forgoing his name. "Please put down your weapons and listen to me."

Her voice was thin against the darkness and his body tensed as a current of distrust threaded through him. But he made no reply, so she took a chance on his silence and continued. "I know you, and you know me. We're married. We made a ch–"

"Stop," he broke in, shaking his head. "You're trying to distract me. It won't work. I have orders. Surrender now and save us both more trouble."

Her heart sank. Had she been wrong to trust that their bond would remain? Despair tugged at her and she tried to push past it, but his voice was so dark and she grew more afraid with each moment. "Please, Stone–"

 _Stop!_ It wasn't a word, but a feeling sent through the Force, hard enough to make her gasp as if she'd been struck. Her husband's anger, his confusion, his fear...they ambushed her with a despair that took hold of her heart and squeezed.

But Kali was still a Jedi. When the first blaster bolts screamed toward her, she did not need to think. It was not just her life at stake. Faster than a heartbeat her saber was in her hand, the blue blade humming against the darkness, and she deflected the shots of plasma with ease. More followed, leaving tracers of crimson in their wake. A few sweeps of her wrist sent them flying into the night.

"Don't do this, Stonewall," she called through the chaos. His only reply was to keep firing, and she thanked the Force, Upala and Honi for her knee, which did not falter when she darted aside to avoid being struck.

It was like dancing, at first. Despite whatever he'd been turned into, she knew his moves and could match them step for step. He fired. She deflected each shot. Sweat poured down her back and her heart pummeled against her ribs in a staccato beat that rivaled the shots he hurled her way. When the Force trilled a warning she dropped to a roll without thinking; her knee twinged a little, but she ignored it and sprang back to her feet.

Only to find that he'd moved closer. He slipped through the darkness like he was made of it, and leveled more shots upon her. He said nothing, but the Force trumpeted his fury and his fear, even as it whispered his uncertainty.

Kali grabbed onto that feeling tighter than a saber hilt. "You know this is wrong. You know this isn't how it's supposed to be. Please."

He said nothing, only fired more shots her way, and all of her concentration funneled into keeping herself and her child alive. She could not find the focus to draw up her shield or dart away. Her arm burned with the effort of deflecting the furious volley; Jonas' saber still swayed at her belt but she could not find an opportunity to call it to her hand. For what felt like the first time in her life, she knew what it was to truly be afraid.

When, the baby's fear spiked in echo of her own, Kali gasped aloud.

 _No._  No, as long as her heart still beat she would keep her and Stonewall's child safe. A swell of love and fierce protective energy overtook her and she took a fleeting second to send the feeling inward, to offer her child some comfort. The fear eased, so Kali refocused on Stonewall and changed tactics. He would not listen, but perhaps she could still make him  _see –_ if only she could get rid of those kriffing blasters. In this moment of clarity, Kali managed to gather the Force to her, draw her father's saber, and leap.

It happened so fast. She landed directly before Not-Stonewall and knocked both blasters from his hands with her saber hilts, sending him staggering from the impact, though he did not fall. Instead, he used his momentum to press forward, grab her wrist, and wrench Jonas' saber from her hand before she could react. The blade sprang free with a  _hiss,_ bathing them both in warm yellow light while his anger blurred into something like satisfaction.

Immediately, Kali whirled out of the blade's reach. Her body slid into a fighting stance and her heart pounded as she faced the armored figure that hid the man she loved. Nothing of Stonewall was visible; only the roil of pain and fear and anger, and now all of it was directed at  _her_.

But it was not until fear bubbled from her child again, an echo of hers and Stone's, that she understood her error. This fight had gone on long enough. Someone had to break the cycle, but if she was wrong, it would cost them everything. Her heart stuck in her throat, her body was coated with sweat, and never had she been more terrified to trust.

Not-Stonewall held her father's saber and faced her, body tense in the moment before he leaped.

Kali released her weapon and raised her hands. "I surrender."


	43. Chapter Forty-Two

Lyrics: ["Open Your Eyes," by Snow Patrol, from  _Eyes Open._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fk1Q9y6VVy0&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp&index=43)

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Two**

_Get up, get out, get away from these liars,_

_'Cause they don't get your soul or your fire._

_Take my hand, knot your fingers through mine,_

_And we'll walk from this dark room for the last time._

_Moments ago..._

"You know this is wrong," the Jedi pleaded with him. "You know this isn't how it's supposed to be. Please."

But her words could not match the thrum of his anger. Wrong. Of course it was fekking  _wrong._ Everything in his kriffing life was  _wrong._ What did a little more wrongness matter?

And what did  _she_ know about any of it?

Shadow gritted his teeth and let loose a stream of blaster bolts. Despite her quickness and skill, despite the second saber she pulled free of her belt, her footwork was sloppy and she was afraid. His best chance was still to overwhelm her. He ducked to avoid a redirected bolt and fired, releasing his control of the weapon to the Force, trusting that it would guide his hand.

So it was almost a surprise when the blue and yellow beams of her lightsabers arced toward him with her leap. It was an unexpected move and he stumbled. Barely two light taps against his hands and his blasters were knocked free, leaving him defenseless against the Jedi. But even as he faltered, he caught sight of an opportunity: her small hand could not properly grip the second saber. Shadow gathered his composure and pressed forward, snatching the weapon before she jumped away.

It fit into his grip like it was made for him. At first the yellow blade was as unexpected as the Jedi's aggressive action, but in Shadow's grip it became welcome; he was reminded of the vibrosword he'd stopped using after he got his blasters. The weapon's hum was familiar too, and almost soothing.

Shadow looked at the Jedi, now a few meters away. She'd tried to trick him into sympathy and compassion, but there was no room for either in his life. She was a liar. People would say anything to avoid death. He readied himself to attack.

The clatter of her saber hitting the dirt startled him, but not nearly as much as her soft words. "I surrender."

"What the kriff–"

"You heard me, stone wall," she broke in, lifting her chin. Her eyes darted across his visor like she was trying to meet his gaze.

In the yellow glow of the saber, he was able to get a proper look at her for the first time. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Even in the depths of fear her mouth was bracketed by faint smile lines, as if she laughed often. These things resonated in his mind.

But she was still  _wrong_ ; her movements during the fight had been too swift, too steady. She was so afraid, even after practically chasing  _him_  out here. Weren't Jedi supposed to be calm? What the kriff was  _wrong_ with this one?

And what did any of that matter to him?

Shadow scowled. No doubt these were more tricks to get him to drop his guard. But he had an objective to complete, so he had to be stronger than her. He took only a moment to fortify himself, then stepped forward, closing the last of the distance between them, and wrapped his left hand in the sweaty, dark tangle of her hair.

Her breath caught when his fingers brushed her neck. Even through his glove her skin was hot; the curve where her head met her neck was as familiar in his grip as any weapon. His heart beat harder.

"Stone wall," she whispered.

His reply was ragged behind his helmet. "Stop saying that."

Her eyes widened. Her lips parted to speak again.

No. This ended now. He pushed her to the ground. "On your knees."

Her answering flare of desperation was strong enough to send  _him_  reeling, but she seemed to snap the emotion back. She offered no physical resistance, only more words. "What have you been calling yourself?"

"It doesn't matter." Keeping one hand tight in her hair, he raised his other and angled the saber against her neck. But his fekking heart slammed his ribs hard enough to steal his breath, his stomach was in knots, and every movement was sluggish.

"Stone wall," she said again, somehow calmer than before. "Your name is Stonewall."

His mouth opened but no sound came out, and a feeling like dread began to flood his veins with ice. Never had he wanted so badly to believe someone he was about to kill.  _Stonewall. Your name is Stonewall._

His name. Was that what Milo had been shouting back on Kamino? Was it true? What was truth any more?

"You're lying," he managed, forcing the words out reflexively. Marks said all kinds of things in their last moments...

Her body lifted and fell as she inhaled, then she met his gaze again, unflinching. "Then don't listen to me. Listen to your heart."

Shadow stared in her dark eyes; even through the filter of his HUD they were red-rimmed and wet, and her face was streaked with dirt. Again, her presence in the Force reached for him, trying to wrap itself around his and pull the two of them closer.  _Closer_. If she was lying, she would be trying to get away. If she was lying, she would not have surrendered. He was a fool who'd dropped his guard a dozen times too many. By all rights he should've had a blade through his chest already. Why didn't he?

His hand tightened on the saber hilt but the blade trembled.

"You are a good man, Stonewall." Now her voice cracked and more tears streamed down her face, but she did not pull her gaze away from him. "And I love you. That hasn't changed."

Within his mind, the wall began to shiver. Tiny fissures threaded from its base, reaching up past where he could see, all the way, he imagined, to the very top. There was something bright behind it, something that called,  _Stonewall._

He wanted so much to believe her. Too much. Surely it was a trick. He shook himself out of the trance and twisted his hand in her hair again. "It's not personal," he said hoarsely. "Just orders."

But the words fell flat.

Once more, he placed the yellow saber to her slender neck, expecting her to plead with him again, and half-hoping she would so he could have an excuse to silence her. But no.

Something changed within her, or perhaps he was for the first time seeing what had always been there. Her eyes narrowed and her jaw got tight, and she ground out the next words with a severity that startled him. "If you're going to kriffing kill me, Stonewall, look me in the eyes when you do it. Take off that  _shabla_ bucket and  _look_  at me."

Shadow hesitated. In any other circumstance, that hesitation should have spelled his death. He should be dead. A few more threads of light seeped through the wall in his mind and his hand trembled in her hair.  _Finish it,_ he ordered himself, but the thought dissipated almost as quickly as it had come because it was wrong. So much was wrong. What would a little more wrongness matter? Maybe this was all a trick and she truly did mean to kill him.

Maybe death would be preferable to a life of unknowns.

Keeping the saber in place with his right hand, he released the Jedi and reached for the seal of his helmet, letting it clatter to the dirt. Warm night air, mingling with the scent of sweat and plasma, rushed to him. Shadow steeled himself and met the Jedi's gaze.

Kalinda Halcyon's dark eyes were ringed with fear and despair and the blue-gray smudges of sleepless nights, but filled with something he finally recognized. The wall in his mind shuddered as more light bled through the steadily gaping cracks, and the whole thing began to crumble beneath its own weight, blinding him as it threw him wide open. A dizzy feeling took hold of him, as if he clung to the side of a mountain and was looking down. His heart stuttered.

A warm hand reached up to rest on his cheek. There was no fear within her eyes now, only love. This, he knew. This was right. His hand opened and the lightsaber fell free. The blade deactivated automatically when the hilt hit the ground, leaving them both bathed in the light of the moon.

"There you are, Stonewall," she whispered, smiling just a little, just enough to cast light upon the final shadows. "I was starting to get worried."

"Kali." The name emerged from some hidden place, and with it, the last of the wall collapsed. Memories flooded the barren ground where he had lived for too long; images, sounds, smells, tastes. They came too fast for him to measure, but fit into some of the empty places in his mind nonetheless. He looked at her again; he never wanted to look away. His wife's face was a song he'd forgotten.

Unable to support his weight any longer, his knees buckled and he joined her on the ground, where he'd put her. "Kali..."

"I'm right here," she said, smoothing her thumb beneath his eyes, where his skin was damp. "So are you."

This was said in wonder, and she smiled even as she wept openly. Words did not come as easily for him as actions and suddenly there was nothing else for him to do but embrace her. He twined both hands in her hair and pressed himself as close to her as possible, as if she was the only thing keeping him from crumbling to pieces. While she wrapped her arms around him, too, he said her name again and reached out to her through the Force.

Kali welcomed him, opened herself to him without hesitation, and he was home. Warmth suffused his veins as love swept him up in an embrace he did not know how he'd lived without. But he hadn't been living, had he? There was no life in being a shadow.

Stonewall buried his face in her hair and wept.

* * *

She did not know how long she held him. Her husband's body wracked itself with long-held grief, and she let him find his release, silently offering safety, shelter. Love.

At last he sagged in her arms and her heart ached at the rough whisper of his voice against her ear. "I'm sorry."

Kali pulled away enough to cup his stubble-coated cheeks in her palms and press her forehead to his. "Forgiven, Stonewall."

The frown he gave her was so utterly  _him._ "But I tried to  _kill_  you–"

She cut off his words with a shake of her head. "You weren't you, back there. You were another man."

"But..." His frown deepened, revealing new lines on his forehead. Kali smoothed her fingertips across them and his face relaxed. Much of his anger had dissipated by now, but his Force-presence was still shot through with confusion. Aside from looking like he'd been living on nothing but caf, his hair was longer and more unkempt than she'd ever seen, and his eyes were shadowed. She thought of what Milo had said, about taking on some of Stonewall's memories, and realized her husband would not be whole for some time, if he would ever be. How could she even start to heal him?

 _Baby steps_ , she thought, and found the strength to smile again. It was easier when he pressed his palm over her hand. "There's a long road ahead, Stonewall," she said. "We should get moving."

Nodding, he stood up in one fluid motion, and offered her his hand. But she didn't need help. Where her knee normally would have been screaming out its displeasure – with the fight, not to mentioned the prolonged kneeling in the dirt – it only offered a faint, annoyed  _harrumph_. Stonewall's eyes swept over her and his head tilted, a question clearly on the tip of his tongue.

But Kali shook her head. "I'll explain later." She pointed to the speeder she'd brought. "Right now we both need a bath."

Stonewall glanced at his speeder bike, then turned his back upon it and called both lightsabers to his hand as easy as taking a breath.

When he tried to give them both to her, she pressed Jonas' old one back. "It fits you better."

" _I'm_  not fit for a weapon," he replied darkly. "I don't want any."

"Now, or...?"

He glared in the direction she'd tossed his blasters. "Never."

There was no reason to debate this now, so she accepted both sabers and laced her fingers with his, and they crossed the rocky ground together. As they reached her vehicle – well, the one she'd "borrowed" from Sita – he slanted her a perplexed look. "A bike would've been faster."

Before she released his hand, Kali kissed his gloved knuckles. "Yes, but I needed space for us both."

* * *

A/N: This is one of those scenes I had in my head since day one of planning this fic. I started writing this in February of 2014, so...yeah, this scene has been rattling around my brain for a while. It's nice to finally get it out. :)


	44. Chapter Forty-Three

Lyrics: ["Make You Feel My Love," originally by Bob Dylan, but my heart belongs to Adele's version.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LLoyNxjhTzc&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp&index=44)

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Three**

_I'd go hungry, I'd go black and blue._  
I'd go crawling down the avenue.  
No, there's nothing that I wouldn't do,  
To make you feel my love.

It was an open-topped speeder, suitably fast, and it hummed as they skimmed along the road, beneath the silver-coin moon. Stonewall sank into his seat. His body was heavy; fek, his entire being was heavy, and suddenly he was more tired than he could remember ever being. The vibration of his seat lulled him into relaxation, but more so did the woman at the steering yoke.

Despite being filthy and tear-streaked, Kali's face was relaxed as she watched the empty road ahead. Her Force-presence, though, was still firmly twined with his, bolstering his frayed spirit and offering a compassion that humbled him.

He had tried to kill his wife. What if he'd managed? Heat pricked his eyes again despite so recently being wrung dry, and he blinked hard in an effort to gain some foothold within his emotions. At one point he swore he could feel something sticky, like blood, on his gloves, so he ripped them off and tossed them in the back of the vehicle; had there been room to maneuver, he would have shucked the rest of the effing armor, too. Maybe later he could burn the lot of it.

As he was tearing apart the comlink that had bound him to Tyranus, Kali glanced his way. "What are you doing? What is that?"

He began to fling the metal pieces out the window. "Garbage."

"It looks like a comlink."

"It is. It's how I got my," kriff, he could barely get the word out, "orders." He ripped the transmittal wires free of the device and threw them into the night.

"Stone..." There was a frown in her voice.

He tossed the last of the comlink away and glanced at her; she did indeed wear a less-than-pleased expression. A brush with the Force confirmed her anxiety. "What?" he said.

She hesitated. "We could have used that to find out who's been controlling you. And," she added gently, "there might have been some sort of tracking mechanism, something that will alert...whomever that you're no longer–"

"It doesn't fekking matter," he snapped. She tensed, but her Force-presence did not waver. He swallowed tightly and took a deep breath, working himself back to some semblance of calm. But he wouldn't apologize for destroying the karking thing. "It's gone now. Good kriffing riddance."

Despite his words and the sentiment behind them, he was suddenly brimming with anger – at himself. He should have known better than to toss away a piece of...was it truly "evidence?" Rather, shouldn't "Stonewall" have known better than "Shadow," anyway? How much of "Shadow" remained within him?

 _Foolish._ Not fit to be a soldier now, if indeed he'd ever been. Heat and shame swam through his body.  _What have I done?_

 _Stonewall._ The threads of love between him and Kali were bright in his mind, and he relaxed again.  _Later_ , she had said, and she was right. They would untangle the worst of the mess later, as he could hardly keep a straight thought in his head right now. So he reached for her, rested his hand upon her knee; she wrapped it within her slender fingers and kissed his fingertips again.

After a moment, she glanced his way. "How much do you remember?"

"Of the last two months?"

"Of everything."

He could not look at her and remember some things, so he turned his face to the world that sped by beyond the vehicle. "Not enough of Before and too much of after."

"Milo said..." She hesitated, and he looked back to see she was frowning in the way she did when she was trying to put her words in some semblance of order. "He said you...gave him your memories. How did...?" She laughed helplessly. "Well, let's just say I'm curious."

But something had kicked his heart at the name. "Milo?" He sat up, but did not release her hand. "He's alive?"

This seemed to amuse her, for her mouth quirked in a smile, though it faded almost at once. "Very much so. He has a scar from where you struck him," she added quickly, as his heart sank, "and Honi still has him doing therapy for his arm, but he's nearly one-hundred percent better."

 _Honi._ Stonewall turned the name over but to his chagrin could not place it. "Honi?"

"My former Padawan, Honi Tallis." Kali gave a wry smile that twisted the knots in his heart into a more joyful shape. "She's been invaluable over the last few months. I couldn't have..."

Kali trailed off and closed her eyes – but only briefly – then exhaled and looked at him again. "We've all missed you terribly, Stone."

"We...?" Kriff, there were still holes in his memories; it was like trying to peer through blacked-out windows.

"The rest of Shadow Squad," she said gently, squeezing his hand.

"Shadow Squad." A chill swept across him and he ran a hand through his too-long hair. "That was why," he murmured. At her curious look he tried to elaborate. "Shadow. That was what I called myself."

Her brows drew together. "Why?"

Stonewall rubbed his forehead. There were still holes, but he had enough of the pieces to make something of a picture. "It was all I could remember. When they..." A realization struck him again, this time chilling him to his core. "When they reconditioned me," he managed, swallowing. "Right?"

She said nothing for a long moment and her other hand hand tightened over the steering yoke. "Yes," she said at last. "You were reconditioned. Do you remember what happened after that?"

"Sort of." He frowned, trying to think clearly. "I woke up in a cell. The guards brought me to...to Milo. Creon–"

"He's dead," she broke in. There was no censure in her voice, only calm. "And I'm not sorry for it. Not after what he did to you, or Mi. Not after seeing The Dregs."

He shuddered without quite knowing why. What he did know was that he did not want to speak – even think – of that place, so he took a steadying breath and squeezed her hand. "Milo's alive. I hoped that was the case." He winced. "He must hate me. He has every reason to."

"Yes, he does," she agreed. "But Milo isn't made for hate, Stone. You'll remember when you see him, Trax, Crest and Weave."

His heart flopped into his stomach. His brothers. The names Crest and Weave were attached to mere shadows in his mind, but if what she said was true, that would hopefully change soon.

Milo, of course, was clear.

Traxis...

Another memory fluttered to the surface.  _Trax._ He could not help his flush, nor the soft smile that crept to his face. It would be good to see that familiar scowl again. As to whether or not Traxis – or any of the others – would want anything to do with  _him_...

Before his thoughts ran away with him again, Kali pulled his hand to her lips and kissed it. "I think you're going to be hurting a while longer, Stonewall. And I don't know if you'll ever be the man you were. But the important thing is that you're here now. We still have each other, and if nothing else, we can all start over. Okay?"

Words were hard to come by, so he only nodded. When she smiled at him, there was a calm within her that he did not recognize. "Whatever happens, I love you," she added. "That never changed, nor will it ever."

"I love you, too," he replied. Only simple words; they hardly encompassed what he wanted to say, but for now they would have to do.

Neither spoke for a little while as the speeder ate up the road beneath them, until he caught sight of Rudral in the distance. Even in the darkness, the city glittered. Tentatively, he cast his memory back, and found something he recognized.  _Starlight in his veins._  He was used to it now, but it pleased him that he could recall how it was strange in those first months.

"This world is where I got the Force."

She cast him a warm look. "Yes, it was an eventful mission."

"Why?" Before she could answer, he hurried to clarify. "Why did I get it, Kali? How did it happen? Did we ever learn?"

"No," she said. "I don't know how, Stonewall, or why. I have an insane theory that it has to do with how we fell in love. But I think..." She worried at her lower lip. "Well, does it really matter right now?"

"I guess not." He sighed and rubbed his forehead with his free hand, then studied her again. She was rounder, softer than the  _Kali_ of his memories. Even through the dirt and grime and exhaustion, she seemed to glow. "You look different."

Her breath caught and a wave of sorrow moved through their bond, and he was on the alert at once.  _Shab_ ; he'd effed up already. "Kali? What is it? What's wrong?"

"Stonewall..." The speeder slowed to a halt as she pulled to the side of the empty road. His heart had begun to hammer again and foreboding curled in the pit of his stomach, because she looked so upset – she  _felt_ upset – and he didn't know why, but he wanted to make it right.

She took a deep breath and looked at him again. "Do you remember what we did on Coraux?"

"What we..." His words faded into nothing as he sifted through his reclaimed memories. Despite the holes, he'd learned that what he needed would slowly trickle back if he was patient.  _Pearly-gray rings hung against an inky sky. The burn of whiskey in his throat. Kali, leaning into him, warm and trembling. The salt tang of the sea and the smell of sex. Their heated union, and after..._

This memory was no trickle. This memory struck like an ocean wave.

"You're pregnant," he whispered.

Her answering smile was equal parts fearful and delighted. "Yes, Stonewall. I'm about fourteen weeks along now."

She tugged up her belt and tunic, and he saw what he'd missed before; the gentle swell of her belly that was new, but not.  _Our child._  His palm hovered over her, but he checked himself and met her eyes in a silent query. Despite everything, it felt wrong to touch her now without first asking permission.

But she only pressed his hand upon her warm skin and held him there. "Can you feel it?"

Stonewall's knowledge of pregnancies was inadequate right now. He thought perhaps it had always been. "Isn't it too early for that?"

Kali gave him an affectionate, chiding look. "Not with the Force."

Now it was second nature to immerse himself in that once-wild energy, that starlight in his blood and deepest self. If nothing else, he'd learned how to wield the Force better than he'd ever thought possible. First he touched Kali's spirit with his own, savoring the feel of her so close, then he reached deeper.

He was greeted with a spark of recognition. Tiny, barely formed, not quite a consciousness, but it was still a presence not his own, nor his wife's, and it responded to his inquiry with what he thought was delight. A thread of love wound from Stonewall to the new presence and all at once he was overwhelmed again. He'd gone from living in the shadows to being thrust into a blazing sun, and though it warmed him, he felt a bit like he was blind and stumbling.

His son knew his father.

 _Shab_. He was going to kriffing cry again, wasn't he? But that didn't matter. Stonewall gathered his composure and sent back what he could: love, joy, a promise of protection, now and forever.

When he opened his eyes, he was face-to-face with Kali, and his heart was so full he thought he would burst. "He's beautiful."

Her lips parted and shock ebbed from her. "He...?"

Ah, fek. Was this supposed to be a secret? "Yeah," he said, withdrawing his hand. "You didn't know?"

"I didn't want to know," she managed. "Not without you."

Strangely, this made him smile. "Well, I imagine you would've found out eventually."

Her answering chuckle broke into a sob, and she leaned across the seats to wrap him in an embrace. "A boy. A little boy. Oh, Stonewall..."

Wrapped in his arms, she smelled like dirt and sweat – and home. He was home.

* * *

By the time Kali pulled into the palace garage, dawn had started to creep across the sky. She was drained, but Stonewall was worse off, so she cloaked them both in the Force so they could steal silently through the palace halls to her quarters. Later, she'd let the others know he was back, but for now, the priority was letting her husband rest.

Well, he also needed a bath. They both did. She settled on a shower. It was surreal to be back in her 'fresher, where she'd first felt his presence only a few hours ago. While the water warmed, Kali stripped away her filthy robes, but he stood in the center of the bedroom, toying with the straps of his chest-piece.

"Stone?"

Guilt and remorse muddied his Force-presence, and it tore her heart how he would not meet her eyes. "I don't know if I'm up for anything other than a shower."

"Me either," she replied at once, and came to stand before him, touching his cheek and drawing his gaze to hers. "We're both exhausted. I just think it will be quicker if we shower together. But if you don't want to, I can wait while you go first."

"No." The guilt he emanated jumped several notches when he took a deep breath and reluctantly slid his gaze to hers. "There was a...woman on Eriadu."

This, she had not expected, though perhaps she should have. Kali's throat tightened and her heart rate kicked into a canter, but she kept her voice and Force-presence calm. "You slept with her."

A frown cut across his face and he shook his head. "No, but I thought about it. I wanted to, at first. I think she reminded me of you, and I was," his frown deepened, "lonely, I guess. Not that it's any excuse. We kissed a bit, but I couldn't..."

He trailed off and looked away from her again, his jaw tight. "I'm so sorry, Kali."

Kali was not above feeling relief. She pressed herself to his chest, ignoring the cold, metallic plating against her skin, and embraced her husband in an effort to give them both some reassurance. "It's all right, Stonewall. I'm not angry or upset. All that matters is you're okay."

"Are you sure?"

She nearly laughed, but kept the sound behind her teeth. "I'm positive. Having you alive and well is more important than anything else right now. Everything will be okay. One step at a time, alright? Let's get the worst of the dirt off, then we can sleep for a week."

Thank the Force, this made him chuckle, and he began to shuck his gear; she noticed how he did not stack it carefully like he used to, but rather kicked it haphazardly toward the far corner of the room. She made no comment. Soon they stood under a stream of warm water, not touching, and while they washed, she examined him more closely, searching for signs of how he had been living these past two months.

Though he was still muscular, he was leaner than she'd ever seen him; his ribs were too visible, his face was more angular, and he had several new scars. A layer of scruff covered his chin and cheeks, and his hair was several inches longer than he'd usually worn it.

"Shadow," he'd been calling himself. Apt in more ways than one.

At one point he caught her studying him, and flinched. "What is it?"

Kriff, she hardly had the words. She twined her fingers through the soaking strands of his hair and managed a comforting brush of her awareness to his; though fraying and shot with darkness, he was still  _Stonewall._ That gave her hope. "I've never seen you with such long hair," she said at last, adding a smile to show she was joking.

"I didn't care enough to cut it. Or shave," he added, rubbing his chin. "It just didn't seem important."

No adequate response came to her, so she only nodded. Stonewall paused, then reached one hand up to her jaw, swiping a thumb over her lips. "It feels good to get cleaned up, though," he added quietly.

Despite the warm water sluicing down her back, Kali shivered; kriff, it felt like it'd been forever since she'd felt his hand upon her skin, and she could not help the flare of her desire, nor how she sucked in her breath.

His hand dropped. "It feels good to touch you, too," he murmured, brows drawing together in confusion. "But I don't know that I have a right to any longer."

This snapped her out of her trance, and she pressed her hand to his chest, over his heart. "You have every right to touch me. More than that, Stone. I  _want_ you to. That hasn't changed, either."

"You don't know what I've done." He looked away from her again and lifted his hands beneath the running water; they were already wrinkled from being soaked for so long. "I've killed innocents. I orphaned a child."

"By your own choice?"

He flexed his hands beneath the water. The steam created by the shower was thickening, starting to obscure them both. "No," he said at last. "I was following orders. But I should have known better." His hands dropped to his sides and he seemed to shrink in on himself, his next words almost lost beneath the rush of falling water. "I let myself be used for evil."

"Who ordered you?" It was an effort to keep her voice from shaking with anger, let alone buffeting him with her emotions.

Stonewall frowned. "It was strange. A Jedi Master named Lord Tyranus. I'd never heard of him, but he..." His face darkened. "Well, he looked the part. And his orders came from a secure Republic channel, so I don't think he was a Seppie. But I didn't verify..." He winced and rubbed his head. "Fek, I'm such an idiot."

Kali was silent for a moment, processing his words, though she really just wanted to hit something. Her husband, her kind, compassionate, brave soldier, was wounded in a way she was only just beginning to understand. Fury kept rising within her, sudden and scorching, but she managed to tamp it down and keep her words steady, though firm.

"I have never heard of a Jedi named Tyranus, but I don't know everyone in the Order. Maybe he's turned to the dark side like that  _chakaar_ , Krell."

Kriff, she should  _never_  have ignored all those briefing memos sent by the Council. But Obi-Wan would probably know the name; he made a habit of reading every wartime correspondence – even the seemingly useless ones. In any case, she had yet another reason to return to Coruscant sooner rather than later. Kali sighed.

"Maybe." Stonewall ducked his head beneath the water again, but she thought it was an effort to distract her from noticing that he was trembling.

Her anger dissolved. This "Tyranus" could wait for a day or so while she took care of the man she loved. Kali wrapped her arms around Stonewall's torso while the water streamed down her hair. "We'll figure it out. In the meantime, it doesn't matter what you've done, Stonewall. The past is past, and the future is always in motion." She tilted her face up to look at him. "The only thing you can truly shape is the present. Please don't keep yourself at a distance because you're afraid of what you've become."

Strong arms wrapped around her, but his voice was too quiet. "You don't know what I've become. I hardly do."

"Do you still love me?"

His reply was immediate. "Of course. I'm not sure I ever stopped, not really."

Kali closed her eyes and leaned her cheek against his heart. "Then please, trust me when I say I will love you, no matter what." She held him tighter, as if she could will him to believe her by skin-on-skin contact. "I love you, and I need you to trust me now. You and me and the little one; we're a family, and I need you to allow yourself to come back to us, all the way. Even if it takes a long time. You may not be the same man you were, but that's okay. We can learn who you are now, together. Do you think you can do that?"

For a moment, all she heard was running water, barely undercut with the dull thud of his heart beneath her ear. Though she kept her awareness open to him, she did not investigate his emotions with the Force and allowed him this time to form his thoughts privately. Instead, she savored the feel of his body against hers, that solid presence that she'd missed beyond measure.

At last he sighed and bent his head to kiss her temple. "I think I can, Kali. At least, I hope I can."

Despite everything, she was able to smile. "'Hope' is enough for me."

* * *

_Later..._

For the first time in two months, Kali lay beside her husband and listened to the sound of his steady breathing. He'd fallen asleep almost the instant his head hit the pillow, though he'd curled up to her in those first few moments, wrapping his arms around her and resting his cheek against her shoulder. His body was warm as ever, and when she inhaled she smelled soap and  _Stonewall._

Sleep eluded her, so instead she studied her husband's every movement: the tremble of his eyelids; the rise and fall of the pulse at his throat; the way he sometimes frowned even in his dreams. Home. He was  _home_. Because she still could not quite believe he was real she kissed his forehead gently, to reassure herself. In return, he exhaled and shifted closer, and pressed a hand to the growing swell of her belly.

Even asleep, even lost and uncertain as he was, Stonewall reached out to their child, hazily touching the baby's presence with his own awareness before allowing himself to drift into true slumber.

Kali studied the intricate patterns of her husband and son in the Force; two bright, twining threads, though one was exponentially brighter and seemed to wrap the second in a protective embrace. After a moment of relaxation she pushed her own awareness to join theirs, and in her mind's eye, all three grew stronger.

Heat pricked at Kali's eyes again, but it was with a joy she could not contain. The Code stressed no emotion, but rather peace. Nor was a Jedi supposed to feel passion; only serenity. But Kali felt all of that and more, and she did not think any of it was dark or dangerous.

Perhaps love was larger than the Code.

The room was dark but moonlight slid through the window, casting Stonewall and herself in a silvery glow. Even with the cooling units in the palace, the air was a little warm, so they'd forgone sheets and blankets. Of course he'd had nothing else besides his kit – after their shower he'd mentioned a ship on the outskirts of Rudral, which she'd have to look into – but she'd been wearing his old fatigues to bed every night, and happily returned them to him. Maybe the guys had some extra clothes; she'd not thought to collect any from the  _Wayfarer_.

The guys. Kali exhaled into the darkness. How would they react to seeing Stonewall this way? He was still  _him,_ but a far cry from the brother they'd known, and besides, he seemed anxious about meeting them again. Agitation nipped the edges of her calm, attempting to wear it away, and she worked to quell the feeling. They were still Stonewall's  _vode;_ they were good men and she had to trust they would be compassionate. Perhaps she was feeling a little too overprotective after Stone being absent for so long.

 _Baby steps_ , she reminded herself, then dropped into the Force again. It would be best to give them some warning of Stonewall's condition, but she was reluctant to leave his side. Aside from the man beside her, there was only one person on Aruna whom Kali could contact through the Force, so this time she pushed her awareness out of the room, through the corridors, to Honi.


	45. Chapter Forty-Four

Lyrics: ["New Slang," by The Shins, on  _Oh, Inverted World._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zYwCmcB0XMw&index=45&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp)

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Four**

_New slang when you notice the stripes, the dirt in your fries,_

_Hope it's right when you die, old and bony._

_Dawn breaks like a bull through the hall._

_Never should have called,_

_But my head's to the wall and I'm lonely._

_Meanwhile..._

_Weave's strong arms braced on either side of her head, and his mouth was close as his almost-golden eyes darted from her lips to her breasts, as if he could not decide where his gaze should remain. Honi's body responded to his nearness; her hips lifted to his and her heart raced eagerly, willing her hand to graze through one of the strips of hair on his skull. It was short but silky, and he made a low sound of desire in the back of his throat before he bent to kiss her mouth–_

"Honi?"

_Wait... What the kriff was Kalinda doing here? Honi frowned, though it was difficult, given that Weave's agile lips had moved to her jaw in an effort to off any logical train of thought. Bent over her as he was, she realized they were inexplicably in her old room at the Temple, which she'd not seen since she was a Padawan..._

_Kalinda's voice sounded again, slightly amused._ "I hate to disturb you, but we need to talk..."

Reluctantly, Honi opened her eyes and she was once more in her room in the Rudral palace. Alone, though with some physical side-effects of her vivid dream. Rather  _too_ physical. Smoothing out her tangled hair in an effort to ignore the tingling sensation between her legs, Honi sat up and easily dropped into meditation, to better contact her former Master.

 _What's wrong?_ she sent to Kalinda. _Are you feeling ill? Is your knee–_

Her former Master cut her off gently.  _I'm fine, Honi. Better than fine, actually._  There was a weighted pause, then Kalinda dropped the figurative thermal det. _Stonewall's back._

Honi's mouth fell open.  _He's...back? How? When?_

 _Yes. It's a long story. Several hours ago._ Kalinda paused again, and Honi felt the thread between them shiver with emotion: relief, joy, apprehension. There were traces of fear and anger, too, though they were faint.  _He's uninjured,_ she added before Honi could ask.  _But he's exhausted. I fear it will be a difficult journey before he's whole again._

 _I imagine so,_ Honi replied. The report form Quinlan Vos had been...disturbing, to say the least, and she wondered what sort of man had returned to Kalinda.  _Does he seem very different?_

Kalinda did not answer immediately, and Honi got the sense that her former Master was studying her husband. Finally she gave the equivalent of a sigh.  _In some ways, he's much changed. In others, he's still Stonewall. The best way I can put it is that he's scarred, but not physically. Emotionally and mentally._

One of the advantages to communication through the Force was a Jedi's ability to transfer emotions and images as well as words, so as Kalinda conveyed these things, Honi was given a taste of what the other woman meant. In her mind's eye, she saw and sensed the clone's anger and confusion as he stalked her former Master, as well as his relief and fear when Kalinda broke through whatever walls had been erected within him. The sensations were second hand and therefore muted, but Honi's eyes still pricked at their intensity.

At last, the flow of emotions and images ceased, and Kalinda "spoke" again.  _Do you understand?_

 _I think so_.  _But why did you contact me?_

 _I don't want to leave him alone right now,_ Kalinda replied.  _It's too soon; he only just got back, and he's still hurting. I'll call them when he's awake and...ready. But the guys need to know all of this before they see him._

Honi frowned.  _You want me to tell them._

 _Yes. But gently,_ Kalinda added, emphasizing the word.  _Stonewall is still their brother, but he is injured in a way that none of them have experienced. They must tread lightly around him._

As a Healer, Honi was no stranger to breaking bad news, but somehow the notion of seeing Weave so soon after her vivid dream was a bit unsettling. But she was a Jedi; her personal feelings didn't matter. Couldn't. She had a job to do.

_Very well. But can it wait a few hours? It's technically morning, but I doubt anyone else is awake._

Chagrin resonated behind Kalinda's reply.  _Of course. I'm sorry, Honi. I really didn't mean to disturb you; I'm just..._

The words trailed off, replaced with feelings of gratitude and love, and overwhelming relief, and Honi shook her head even though no one was there to see.  _It's fine. I'll let them know._

 _Thank you. Much of his memory has returned, and I think he'll be up to seeing them when he's gotten some rest._ There was another pause, then Kalinda spoke again, her words taking on a faint, wry edge.  _My former Padawan and my husband, meeting at last. I hope you like each other._

Yes, Honi was quite interested to meet the man who'd caused such a stir in Kalinda's life – and her own and Zara's, by proxy.  _Is there anything else?_

 _No, thanks,_ Kalinda replied. There was a pause, then a faint, teasing,  _Sweet dreams, Honi._

Before Honi could reply, the link between them was gently tied off and she was once again alone in her head and her room. She laid back down and tried to drift back to sleep, but her efforts failed. Even meditation proved fruitless, though she tried to ignore the fact that she was still rather keyed-up from her dream.

She sighed. At the moment, there was really only one reasonable method of dealing with such restlessness: a nice, long run. Besides, it'd been far too long since she'd engaged in steady-state cardiovascular activity, which was, after all, vital for her health.

So she rose, tied up her hair and changed into her tunic, pants and boots, though she left her robe aside. Perhaps an early morning run would also help to clear her mind. Zara's room was beside hers; a brief examination with the Force told her that her Padawan was sleeping soundly, and Honi decided to leave the girl in peace.

Once at the entrance to the suite of rooms down the hall that housed the clones' quarters and makeshift medbay, Honi paused. A brush with the Force told her that the men within were resting peacefully, and she allowed herself a moment of satisfaction. They all needed the rest.

Then the door slid aside and Weave was there, tugging a thin, cotton shirt over his head. When he saw her, he froze in place, and was it her imagination, or was he flushing?

"Oh," he said as he pulled the shirt down over his abdomen. "Good morning, Honi. I was about to go on a run. Did you need something?"

For a moment too long she was riveted by the sight of his torso, and a few choice sensations from her dream returned, before she shook herself out of the daze and managed a proper reply. "I'm going on a run as well." She tried to peer behind his head to the room beyond. "Is anyone else awake?"

"Nope. Looks like we're the only early risers, today. Maybe..." Yes, he was definitely flushing, despite his easy tone. "Would you like to run together?"

Well, she needed to speak with Weave  _and_  his brothers, but perhaps it would be more efficient to pass on the information to Weave now rather than try to field questions from multiple, possibly agitated clones. Besides, the medic knew how best to break difficult news to his brothers. "I think that will do," she said. "There is something I need to discuss with you, anyway."

Curiosity spiked from his Force-presence, but he simply shut the door and followed her through the corridors, until they reached the stairs that led to the city below. The guards nodded at both Jedi and clone, but didn't speak, and within a few minutes Honi and Weave were jogging through the city streets.

The sky was still dark, but already Rudral was starting to awaken. The scent of baking bread and fresh flowers mingled with less-than-pleasant odors found in populated areas, and a few vendors were making their way toward the marketplace, pushing hover carts filled with wares. .

She decided on a destination and set a brisk pace. Weave kept up easily, back straight, eyes ahead, Force-presence bright as he observed everything they passed. After a few moments he glanced at her. "Are we going to the new rehabilitation center?"

She nodded. "The contractors are adamant it will be completed in time, but I have my doubts. We only have a month before the first wounded are scheduled to be transferred."

"The building they're renovating is in rough shape," he said, gracefully sidestepping a pile of refuse. "They've got their work cut out for them. But it'll be good to have a proper medical facility just for the clones. Upala's done what she can, but I don't want to put a strain on her resources any longer."

Honi frowned at the mention of the chief Arunai healer. "She's a medical professional. She's only doing her job."

Faint amusement flickered from him, but his reply was, as ever, steady, despite the jogging movement of his body. "It's still hard for me to believe Crest's press conference went over so well. We're almost behind the times, now. If I wasn't so busy here, I'd like to visit Naboo and Alderaan, to see what they're doing with the wounded men they've received."

A knot formed in Honi's stomach at these words, and her thoughts turned distant. She'd had the same thought, but would the Council allow it? Save Kalinda and Master Vos, she'd not spoken to anyone from the Temple since arriving on Aruna; she'd told herself it was because she was too engrossed in her healing efforts, but the reality was far less noble.

 _I'm afraid to go back,_ she thought, increasing her pace, like she could escape the foolishness of her actions.  _I'm afraid of what they'll tell me when I return._

Kalinda had chosen her path, and it was leading her away from the Order. Force knew what the other woman intended to do now that her husband had returned, but Honi's own time in limbo was rapidly drawing to a close. Eventually, she'd have to make a decision, but she could not see herself abandoning the Order. And there was Zara, who seemed happy here, but was far too young to make any sort of commitment to a path. Well...a path other than that of a Jedi.

"Honi?" A tentative touch against her shoulder made her look up, into a pair of almost-golden eyes. "You stopped. Are you alright?"

They stood in the middle of the street. Buildings on both sides were cluttered with doors and windows, indicating tenements of some kind, but only a few white-haired Arunai were out. Even though she'd only been jogging, Honi's heart raced and her breath was far too short, and the single knot in her stomach had tripled in size.

"I'm fine," she managed, blinking at him. "But I have something to tell you."

Apprehension flared from him, but he nodded. "Fire at will."

She could almost hear Kalinda's voice in her head.  _Be. Nice. Break the news gently._ "Stonewall's back," she said quickly, and Weave's mouth fell open. "I'm not completely sure of the details," she added before he could speak, "but Kalinda said he's physically unharmed, though scarred from his experiences. She gave me...a sense of what he's like now, and I must warn you that when you see your brother again, he is not going to be the man you remember."

As she spoke, Weave stared at her. Until she finished, he neither moved nor replied. "His memories...?"

"Kalinda said many of them have returned, but not all." She could not help but purse her lips in disbelief. "I suppose Milo has the rest, but I'm not certain."

"Technically, reconditioning's not permanent," Weave said. "A reconditioned clone's memories will return in time. But everything I've read indicates it takes a year – at  _least_  – for that to happen. It's just..." He frowned. "They rarely last that long in combat. So I guess, from a certain point of view, it's  _very_  permanent."

It took Honi a moment to form an adequate reply; she had to call upon far too much Healer's training to remain impassive at his words. "Why?"

"Why, what?"

"Why don't...reconditioned clones last long in combat?"

Weave's gaze was distant and his voice was soft, but held traces of anger. "We are the sum of our experiences. Without those memories to rely upon, with only training, the odds of survival are lower. Add to that a general sense of...confusion, which I understand is part of the reconditioning process..."

He ran a hand through the twin strips of hair on his head. "Coming back to oneself from all of  _that_ is a kriffing miracle." He sighed deeply and regarded her once more."But Stonewall's...not injured?"

"Not physically," Honi replied, frowning. "But from what I could tell, he's been through a great deal of emotional strain, and it has taken its toll."

"From what you could tell?"

Honi's cheeks grew warm. It had not felt intimate at the time, but revealing this information now, and how she'd come upon it, seemed a bit personal. "Kalinda shared his emotional state with me through the Force," she said after a moment. "It was the quickest way for her to fully explain the situation. He's still resting and she didn't want to leave him," she added. "She will call you when he's awake and ready to meet you, but she wanted me to make sure you understood what you will find when you see your brother again."

Weave nodded and took another shaking breath, then looked away, back toward the palace. His Force-presence was strained, though she did not peer too closely. That, she thought, would be more intimate than she was prepared for. Instead, she clasped her hands before her in a manner befitting a proper Knight, and waited for him to sort through his emotions.

Finally he looked at her again, and she was startled to see that his eyes were bright. "I didn't think we'd see him again," he said quietly. "Not really. I mean, I hoped. But..." He ducked his head and swiped at his eyes, and inhaled deeply. "But he's alive, and back. That's better than I'd even hoped."

It was the first time she'd seen him lose his composure. Even when they'd first thought Stonewall had been killed, Weave's calm had not wavered; now his hands shook and his words were halting, and his cheeks were wet. Fear coiled through his Force-presence, along with disbelief and awe, and a dizzying amount of relief, all of which seemed to have crumbled his control. Honi told herself it was simple compassion that urged her to place her hand on his side, where she could feel his warm skin through his shirt. At her touch, he inhaled sharply and looked at her.

"Where there is life, there is hope," she said. The old Healer's axiom had reassured her on more than one occasion; perhaps it would do the same for him. "Your brother just needs time to heal."

"He'll get that time," Weave replied firmly, swiping his eyes again. "If I have anything to say about it, at least."

A curious remark, but before Honi could ask, Weave took her hand in his, pulled her to his chest, and kissed her hard enough to steal her breath. It was brief but strong, made more so by the flood of desire and affection that rose from him, and when the kiss ended but he did not pull away, it was impossible for her to get her bearings.

"Thank you for telling me, Honi," he murmured against her mouth. "But I have to go back to my brothers now."

"I know," she managed, still reeling.

Weave took another breath, swore softly, and kissed her again, this time impossibly gently even as he held her close, and for one sweet moment she allowed herself to relax into him, completely. When they parted, he gave her a faint smile that held no small amount of mischief. "I'll see you later."

He darted away, leaving her alone. She watched him run full-throttle back the way they'd come, until he turned a corner and vanished from her sight.

But not, she was starting to understand, from her mind.

That was going to be a problem.

* * *

Something poked Milo's nose. "Wake up,  _vod."_

In his haze, at first he thought it was Tejaal, but of course she wouldn't call him "brother," and besides, he hadn't slept beside her. Last night, when he'd visited her home, he'd spent an enjoyable span of hours, but had eventually made his way back to the palace to bunk with his  _vode._ With them was where he belonged.

Whoever had poked his nose sighed, then switched to his ribs. "Come on, Mi. Wake  _up._ Weave's not here to look at the nanogene droids with me, and you promised we'd spar today."

Ah, so it was Levy, but there was no anxiety in the younger clone's voice, just playfulness, so Milo took his time opening his eyes. He yawned and sat up, gently swatting the  _adi'ka's_ hand away before Lev could prod him again. "Where's Weave?"

"Out for a run." Levy sat on the edge of Milo's bed and gave him a rather amused look as he tapped his heels against the frame. "I think he went with General Tallis. I heard them talking."

Sleepy as he was, Milo had to smile. Good for Weave. Tallis was right up the medic's hyperlane. "Alright. Let me get some caf, then we can spar. Okay?"

Levy nodded, but his expression turned a bit pensive. "I wanted to talk to you last night, but Crest said you weren't here. Where were you?"

 _Shab_. Probably wasn't the best idea to put  _adult_  ideas in Lev's head just yet. Rather than reply immediately, Milo swung his legs out of bed and shifted his shoulder; it always ached first thing in the morning, but much of the numbness had faded. He scrubbed a hand through his hair and glanced at his younger brother. "I was with a friend."

"Who?"

"Uh..." Fek. He was not awake enough to answer questions like this. What time was it? Milo checked his chrono and groaned; he'd only gotten a few hours of sleep. Tejaal didn't have a shift until later today, so they'd made the most of the night. Kriff, he probably still smelled like her. Which wasn't necessarily a bad thing – she usually smelled really nice – but it blew any chances of discretion out of the water.

Levy regarded him, then his eyes widened. "You were with your girlfriend, weren't you?"

Milo frowned. "She's not my girlfriend."

He didn't think so, anyway. He liked her a lot, enjoyed spending time with her, but that was it. Tejaal was lovely and sweet, but he didn't love her. An uncomfortable ball of ice formed in his gut. Was he supposed to tell her any of that? He had no clue how relationships worked, but he was starting to wonder if he'd effed up.

_Kriff._

"Then what is she?"

Good question. Too bad he didn't have an answer. Milo managed a casual shrug; there was no reason to burden Levy with any of this. "Just a friend, Lev. We like to spend time together, but we're not...you know..." Levy stared at him, uncomprehending, and Milo sighed. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

Levy regarded him a moment longer before he ducked his head and pulled his knees close to his chest. "I did some digging and found my squad."

"Where?"

"Corrie." Levy had gone very still, and he didn't look at Milo as he spoke. "Some sort of 'hands-on training' run the long-necks have started. And since I'm...you know, talking and stuff, I think I want to try and..."

He trailed off, but Milo thought he knew. He sat up and placed a hand on Levy's shoulder to hug him to his side. "You want to go back to them."

"Yeah. Is that silly?" Levy leaned up to look him in the eyes. "I'm really grateful for everything Gen...I mean, Kalinda, has done, but I..."

"You miss your  _vode,_ " Milo finished. Levy nodded and leaned into Milo's side again, while Milo considered his response. "It's not silly at all. When I was in The Dregs, I missed my brothers more than I realized I would. Even with Stonewall there, it wasn't enough."

The realization struck him like a blade to the heart. He'd wanted  _more_. More than just one brother, as greedy as it sounded. Yes, he'd done what he needed to do to keep Stonewall safe, but it wasn't the path he would have chosen, had he been given a choice.

But where the kriff did that leave him now? So he wanted  _more_ than what he had. Didn't that make him selfish? Shouldn't he just be grateful to have a pretty girl who cared about him? Not to mention being  _alive_? Why did he want more? What more was there?

Even Stonewall's memories couldn't help him sort through this kind of dilemma. At least he'd gotten better at ignoring them when they surfaced. That was something.

Milo sighed again and rubbed Lev's shoulder. "How did you find out your squad was on Corrie, anyway? I'd think that sort of intel would be on a strictly GAR channel."

Levy seemed to find the toes of his boots fascinating. "Um...it was."

"Then..." Milo stared at the younger clone, who risked a glance back at him, a mischievous grin spreading over his face as he took in Milo's shock. "Oh,  _shab_. You hacked into the GAR?"

"Well...technically I just sidestepped the GAR pyrowalls using a proxy," Levy said, brow furrowing again. He had a distant look on his face that reminded Milo of Weave in his more introspective moments. "From there, it was pretty easy to access the main database. It probably shouldn't be so easy..."

"Probably not," Milo managed.

Levy flushed. "I also wanted to look up my number, to see if I was listed as...well, whatever they call 'defects.'"

"You're not defective," Milo replied, frowning. "Don't let anyone tell you otherwise, okay,  _vod_?"

The younger clone nodded and toyed with the hem of his shirt. "My status was 'pending,' so I guess Creon hadn't decided if he wanted to keep me at The Dregs. Except for Ward and Halligan, everyone in Misfit Squad was listed as 'deceased.' I looked you up, too. And the other guys in Shadow."

"What did you find?"

Levy was quiet a moment, then met Milo's eyes. "You've been decommissioned. All of Shadow Squad has. Well, except for your captain. CC-3077 was listed as 'deceased.'"

 _Deceased_. Something heavy seemed to drop in Milo's stomach, but he kept his voice steady. "Decommissioned. Huh. Never met anyone who was decommissioned."

"No one ever is," Levy replied. "From what I could tell, at least. I guess it's got something to do with what General Halcyon and Queen Hari have been working on."

No doubt. Milo took a deep breath, for his stomach had tightened in on itself again. Decommissioned. Officially, he was no longer in the GAR. Maybe he should have been pleased; this probably meant he wouldn't be labeled as a deserter. A huge door had been flung open, and the possibilities were endless.

But why did it feel like something had been taken away?

A series of heavy thuds against the door caused both Milo and Levy to start.

"Get your lazy  _shebs_ out of bed, Mi," Trax called, punctuating his words with each slam of his fists. "Weave has news, but he won't say what until we're all here."

Levy perked up at the mention of Weave, which made Milo chuckle as they rose and slipped into the makeshift medbay, which had become more of a barrack's lounge in recent weeks. The bacta tank had been returned to the medcenter, along with much of the medical equipment, which left more room for the indoor exercise area that Shadow Squad was setting up.

Crest and Zero stood in the center of the room, while the rest of Misfit Squad – including Ward and Halligan – looked on curiously. Trax met Milo and Levy just outside Milo's door, his scarred face even more grim than usual. Weave paced by the main door; it was odd to see their medic- _vod_ so agitated, and Milo's stomach twisted.

The moment Milo and Levy appeared, Crest looked at Weave. "Okay, the gang's all here. What's got you so worked up?"

Weave halted in his tracks, took a deep breath, and met Milo's eyes. "It's Stonewall. Honi just told me a few minutes ago...he's back."

Silence filled the room.

Until, naturally, Crest broke it. "Uh...come again?"

Weave straightened and seemed to take extra care in forming his words. "Stonewall has returned. Kalinda found him...somehow, and brought him back to the palace. He's uninjured, and apparently is resting."

"He's..." Trax's voice broke and he cleared his throat. "He's back? You're sure?"

"How?" Halligan added, frowning at Ward beside him on one of the couches.

The knot that had been forming in Milo's stomach turned ice-cold, and there was a sudden ringing in his ears. He'd been standing, but his legs now felt too weak to support his weight; they began to buckle, though he was saved from hitting the floor by the intervention of his brothers. Quicker than a thought, Trax, Crest and Weave were at his side, hefting him to his feet and moving him to one of the padded chairs scattered through the room. Everything became distant and out of focus. Muted voices drifted his way as his  _vode_ sought to make sure he was okay, but Milo hardly noticed.

He was not afraid of seeing Stonewall again, though perhaps he should have been, and the scar near his shoulder twinged. But even after searching his own heart, Milo could not find a trace of the emotion – not about seeing his  _vod,_ at least. No, his discomfort was due to another reason.

Before, he'd thought he'd just gotten so good at ignoring when Stonewall's memories surfaced, but now they swam before his eyes, clouding his vision and swarming his brain, as if they were desperate to break free of him. Blinking furiously to try and clear his head, he looked at his brothers, but barely saw their worried faces; instead, he saw  _Shadow Squad_ as Stonewall remembered, laughing over a round of sabacc what felt like years ago now. Their armor was unmarked but they were still a team, still a family, and the bonds of loyalty, trust and affection filled Milo to the brim even as he fought to regain control of his senses.

Three voices said his name. They would have sounded the same to an outsider, but Milo knew their individual nuances by heart. It took another deep breath, but Milo managed to look up; he was met with Weave's serious face, though Trax and Crest each gripped – gently – one of his shoulders. He blinked again and registered the fear in their expressions, and tried to smile.

There was nothing to be afraid of. Stonewall was back. They had each other. They had everything.

"It's okay," he managed at last, meeting each of his brothers' eyes. "I'm okay. Just...surprised."

"Join the effing club," Trax muttered, but his scarred face was concerned.

Crest squeezed his shoulder again, but looked back at Weave. "What else do you know?"

It was a testament to how agitated Weave was that he didn't whip out his scanner and insist Milo undergo a series of tests to make sure he was "okay." Instead, the medic laced his fingers together and leaned forward on the couch where he'd taken a seat beside Milo.

"He's back but..." Weave frowned. "Not entirely himself, from what Honi was saying. He doesn't have all of his memories–"

"Not  _yet,"_ Milo broke in, tapping his temple.

Weave hesitated, but nodded slowly and continued. "Beyond that, though, he's...well, she said he was scarred, but not physically."

Trax's voice was dark. "What does that mean? What the fek happened to him? How did he...survive after being reconditioned?"

"I don't know," Weave replied. "I imagine we'll get the full story soon. But Honi made it a point to let me know that he will not be the 'Stonewall' that we remember."

Levy shuffled from side to side and some of the guys from Misfit Squad began to mutter amongst themselves, but neither Milo nor his  _vode_ said anything. Stonewall's memories still chased each other through Milo's mind. He did not fight them. With any luck, soon they would be with their owner; from there, maybe Milo could move forward.

Zero cleared his throat. "Why didn't your general tell you any of this herself?"

"She didn't fekking want to leave him alone," Traxis replied, scowling at the one-armed clone.

"That's what you do when you love someone," Milo heard himself add. "You stay by their side, no matter what."

Zero shrugged and leaned back into his chair, studying Milo with amusement. "Well, then. Consider me duly educated on love."

"Happy to hear it," Crest drawled, then looked back at his brothers. "Someone's getting extra laps later," he muttered. "In the meantime...how about we give the captain's kit a going-over? It might help him feel more like himself if he's got his own armor on."

"Good idea, Crest," Weave said, nodding. "In fact, all our kits could probably use a deep clean."

Another memory flooded Milo's brain: Shadow Squad, before their first mission together, before they'd even picked a name for themselves, standing together in the Corrie Guard barracks while Kali – General Halcyon, back then – looked them over. Mixed feelings of pride and apprehension followed the image, and not all of them were Stonewall's emotions. Milo sighed and eased his back into the couch, taking comfort once more in his brothers' presences. Yes, he wanted more – one day. For now, he just wanted his family to be whole again.

Trax seemed to be of a similar mind. "Might be good for him to see himself with his  _vode,_ all kitted up," the scarred clone added gruffly. "Make him feel more at home."

* * *

A/N: More setup for the big meeting. I know you're getting antsy, but try to hang in there! ;)


	46. Chapter Forty-Five

Lyrics: ["Hey, Brother," by Avicii, from  _True._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Cp6mKbRTQY&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp&index=46)

Soooo...apparently we're opening with yet another dream-sequence. (sorrynotsorry...)

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Five**

_Hey brother, there's an endless road to re-discover._ **_  
_ ** _Hey sister, do you still believe in love, I wonder?_ ****_  
_ _Oh, if the sky comes falling down,_

_For you, there's nothing in this world I wouldn't do._

_Within and without, there was only darkness. It gripped his wrists and ankles, coiled around his heart, and squeezed the air from his lungs. It held him prisoner._

_"_ _State your designation."_

_His mouth opened but a voice that was not his emerged. It was low and sharply edged, and it snarled, "_ Shadow _."_

_No. That was wrong. But so much was wrong... What was truth any longer? Somewhere he could not see, a child began to cry, and the shadows around him tightened when he tried to pull free._

_"_ _Spare him," another voice whispered, shaking him to his bones. "Please."_

_The_ snap-hiss _of an ignited lightsaber filled his ears and yellow light washed over him as the blade descended, angled for his heart._

_That same voice, not his, slunk from the darkness. "I don't know what you did to deserve this, but I don't want to drag it out."_

"Stonewall."

He woke up gasping and coated with sweat, hands scrabbling for a weapon that was not there, and it was that emptiness that tore his senses to shreds. It was not dark here, wherever  _here_ was, but he couldn't see anything beyond the cage of his own panic. He needed a blaster, a vibro, something... He needed to protect himself against the suffocating darkness.

Something soft touched his hand, but he jerked it back, tensing his body to spring out of bed and find cover, a weapon, his fekking gear.  _Shab,_ where was his kit? Where the kriff was  _he_?

_Stonewall._

It was a gentle brush of calm against his mind that made him freeze in place, heart slamming behind his ribs even as he struggled to take a full breath. With stillness came thought, and he blinked a few times to clear his head and  _see_ what was around him. Pale light, diffused by curtains the color of honey, trailed across a tiled floor to curl at the foot of his bed.  _His_  bed? What the fek...?

"It's okay, Stonewall."

At last, her voice reached through the fog in his brain and reminded him who and where he was, and he could breathe again. Kali sat up and took one of his hands in both of hers and met his eyes. "Everything's okay," she murmured again, smiling at him. "You're safe."

He swallowed down his confusion and nodded, though speech still escaped him. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her warm body and held her close, inhaling her familiar scent. She returned the embrace, curling her hands at the nape of his neck and kissing his cheek once before sighing into his chest.

Kriff, it was so good to hold her, and to be held. Breathing came easier now, and his heart slowed to a steady pace. At last she pulled back a little and looked into his eyes. "A nightmare?"

"Yeah," he managed, looking away from her. "Sorry if I woke you."

"What–"

But he cut off her question with a shake of his head. "I don't want to talk about it right now."

Sadness flickered within her Force-presence, but she nodded. The amusement in her next words was incongruous. "You didn't wake me because I wasn't sleeping." At his look, she pulled a face and rested a hand on her belly. "Our son is an early riser."

Alarm flooded him. "Are you alright?"

"Everything's fine. Morning sickness is fairly routine," she said, sighing. "Plus I think he's just happy to have his daddy back." At Stonewall's perplexed look she smiled again, and he took heart in how easily the expression seemed to come to her. "Ever since you returned, his Force-presence has been...sparkling."

"Sparkling?"

"It's hard to explain." She leaned back and pulled up her sleep-shirt. "See for yourself."

Stonewall hesitated, but placed his hand on Kali's stomach and reached out with the Force. While his senses had been clouded with fear only moments ago, the instant he felt his son's presence, everything crystallized in his mind, and he was filled with awe. It was as his wife had said. Their son was not truly conscious yet, but he was alive, and in the Force, he sparkled. Through Stonewall's perception, his son glittered like a sunrise on a calm sea reaching out to the horizon, to boundless possibilities. The new life was tiny in form, but vast in spirit.

As before, when he sensed his father, his presence brightened, impossibly, and Stonewall felt  _something_ reach for him; he likened it to a tiny hand, outstretched. Throat tight, heart beating a strange and hopeful cadence, Stonewall reached back, brushing his son's Force-awareness with his own, and marveling at how that spark of recognition turned joyful and welcoming.

Kali's awareness threaded through the Force to reach him. _Do you see?_

"Yes," he heard himself say, softly, and in wonder.

At some point, he pulled himself away. It was strange to look around the room again; he felt like a swimmer who'd breached the surface of a fathomless sea, but his initial terror and confusion had faded into awe. And joy. Stonewall looked at his wife, who smiled at him again, and because he could not help himself any longer, he stroked her cheek with his index finger.

Kali trembled beneath his touch, and her body responded in other ways, quite visible through her thin shirt. Stonewall nearly pulled his hand back – in some respects, it still felt wrong to touch her – but she placed her palm over his and leaned close enough to brush her lips against his. The Force sang with her longing, her desire, her love, and the song fell over him like a crashing wave. She opened herself to him and he found her soft, sweet, warm. She said his name and banished the last of his hesitation.

They fit together like they'd never been apart. He'd forgotten how it was to be so close with another, to touch and taste and smell, and whisper against the soft pulse of her throat. He'd forgotten how it felt to love, and be loved.

After, they lay on damp sheets and because he could, he skimmed his fingertips over her stomach again. His son's presence had faded to a sleepy lull, but a thought struck him and he winced. "You don't think he...sensed all that stuff, do you?"

"I wondered about that," she replied, chuckling. "But I was able to keep the more unsavory bits from reaching him. As far as he knows, we're just really happy to see each other."

"Well, that's true enough." Stonewall sighed and wrapped his arm around her fully, nuzzling her shoulder, adding a few light nips that made her squeal, though she did not pull away.

They were quiet a while longer before she peered up at him again. "The guys know you're back. I spoke to Honi last night, and she said she'd let them know. Do you think..." Uncertainty flickered in her dark eyes, but her voice was Jedi-calm. "Do you want to see them now?"

Apprehension tightened in his stomach, but he pushed past the feeling. "I think so."

If they would want to see him. After what he'd done – and almost done – they might very well not want anything to do with him.

"They've missed you," she added gently. "All of them. And I think Milo has something of yours he'd like to return."

Stonewall searched his patchy memory for a clue about what she meant, until something she'd said last night returned. "I gave him my memories before Creon reconditioned me."

She nodded. "Well, some of them, apparently. He said you kept the more," her lips quirked, "sensitive ones to yourself. Thank you for that, by the way."

It was easier to smile than it had been for some time. "You're welcome," he said, and she grinned in earnest.

Stonewall studied the play of morning light across her lips, her breasts and the swell of her belly. Fek, she was beautiful. There was no one so beautiful in his eyes. How could he have forgotten this feeling?

His chest tightened painfully. He could have killed her and their son. He would have.

Kali recognized the shift within him. "What are you thinking?"

"How much I missed you." It was hard to look at her and think these things, but it was worse to look away.

"Liar," she said gently.

Stonewall exhaled and leaned close to her again, as if proximity would make the words easier to say. "I almost killed you both."

" _Almost_ ," she emphasized. "But I'm much faster than you now."

She shifted her left knee as she spoke, and Stonewall frowned at the new scar. "What happened?"

"It was time I got over myself and got a prosthetic."

He skimmed his hands over the raised, reddened skin. "When?"

"A little over a month ago," she said, lifting her leg and bending the knee a few times. "Honi's been helping to speed up the healing."

Satisfaction moved through him as he watched her fluid motions; how many times had her knee caused her trouble? More than he could remember, probably. But he disliked the notion that she'd gone through any hardship. "Did it hurt?"

"At first," she replied, though her voice was steady. "But the end result has been worth the pain, and it wasn't too bad, all things considered." She wriggled her toes and added, "If I'd run, you never would have caught me."

"But you were terrified." Her dirt and tear-streaked face was a memory he'd carry the rest of his days.

Kali brought her leg back to rest on the bed and met his eyes. "More than I've ever been in my life," she admitted. "But I trusted you more than I was afraid of what you'd become."

Bewildered, he shook his head. "That's kriffing insane."

The smile she gave him now was softer than before. "That's what it means to love. Sometimes you have to know when to surrender."

* * *

_Later..._

Traxis tightened his fingers on the rucksack that held Stonewall's gear. It had taken the better part of the morning and he could still smell the acrid cleaner beneath his nails, but fek it all, his  _vod's_ kit was in better shape than it'd ever been. He and Milo had disassembled both of his captain's pistols to deep-clean each component, Weave had detailed all the electronics in the bucket, and Crest had mended the fraying edges of the  _kama_.

Tallis led the four of them through the palace halls; to a bystander, they probably looked like any other squad of armored clones following a Jedi general, but Traxis didn't give a kriff about anyone other than the man who waited at their destination. His heart hammered beneath his chest-piece, and he considered shoving his bucket on, just to put something between himself and whatever he would find behind Stonewall's eyes.

 _Don't be a kriffing_ hut'uunla _pussy_ , he thought, scowling at himself.  _Man the fek up. He's your_  vod _. He always will be._

They turned a corner and he caught Crest's eye; his bald brother gave him a thin smile that mirrored the anxiety churning in his guts, and strangely, Trax's apprehension eased at the sight. He nodded to Crest, and their steps fell in unison.

When they reached the door to Kali's suite, the copper-haired woman paused and glanced between them, though Traxis noted that she did not look at Weave. "Tread lightly around him," she said quietly. "He's not–"

"The same," Traxis broke in, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, we heard you the first five fekking times you said it. That's why we're going to take it easy with the 'hello' until we know he's..." Traxis nearly faltered, but regained control. "Until we know he's okay."

Milo placed a hand on his shoulder-bell. "It'll be fine,  _vod,"_ he murmured in Mando'a. Following his near-faint earlier, the damn kid had been nothing short of chipper. He was the only one. To Tallis he said in Basic, "We're ready."

The fek Traxis was, but it was too late to turn around, had he even wanted to. Instead he tried to force away the tension in his body and keep his face from betraying his stupid fekking emotions. Tallis activated the panel by the door, which slid open almost instantly to reveal Kali, seated on one of the living area's couches. Beside her was...

"Stonewall." Of course, regardless of what the squad had agreed to do, Milo broke formation and rushed forward, all but skipping up to the lean, scruffy man beside their Jedi. "Kriff, it's good to see you again,  _vod._ "

The man who looked up at Mi was a clone, but his face was shadowed in ways Trax had not seen in another before. It  _was_  Stonewall – Trax would have known him anywhere – but he looked wan and exhausted. Trax's  _shabla_ heart tightened in response, and anything he might've thought to say suddenly felt kriffing stupid. What the fek did he know of what had happened to his  _vod_ , anyway? The Battle of Teth had been harrowing, but in a familiar way to a man bred for war.

But kriff, it hurt to karking  _look_ at the shadow who sat before him.

As the others filed in at a more respectful pace, Stonewall seemed to press closer to Kali, who kept one hand on his arm. "You, too," he said carefully, eyes darting from Mi to the others. "Are you," he grimaced, "how are you?"

Milo, in his way, only smiled and plopped down beside his brother. "I'm good. Ready to give you back your memories, though."

Stonewall's brows drew together but he said nothing, instead glancing at the others as they took seats around him. Crest and Weave sat opposite Stonewall, on the caf table, while Trax settled on a single chair to his  _vod_ 's right, just past Kali. The Jedi exchanged a meaningful glance before Tallis slipped out of the room.

Silence filled the space between all of them for a moment as Kalinda looked from Stonewall to Milo. "How did you do this before?"

"I'm not sure," Milo admitted. "It was really Stonewall's thing. I just sort of sat back and...watched."

All eyes turned to Stonewall, who blanched, though after a beat he seemed to collect himself and consider. "I'm not sure, either," he said slowly. "But I think I can try."

"I can help," Kali replied, squeezing his arm and giving him a warm look. "I can bolster your abilities a bit."

Stonewall's answering look was nothing short of adoration, and its familiarity was heartening. Crest and Weave, too, looked relieved to see this bit of normalcy, and the bald clone smiled at their newly-returned brother. "Always handy to have a Jedi around, eh  _vod_?"

"So I'm learning." Stonewall frowned. "Well, re-learning, I suppose..." He looked between Crest and Weave, brow furrowed. "I'm sorry, I don't quite remember your names."

"You will, soon," Milo said.

Though a look of disappointment had crossed his face, Crest's expression held nothing but kindness. "It's okay,  _vod,_ " he added, nudging Weave's side while the medic nodded in agreement. "No hard feelings on our end. Right, Trax?"

But at the sound of his name, Traxis' chest tightened when Stonewall's eyes widened a fraction and he glanced over. He stared at Traxis perhaps a beat longer than was necessary before looking down, the faintest of smiles tugging on his mouth, and Trax was torn between laughing outright and wanting to punch something. So it was true, what Milo had reported. Stonewall had only shared some memories with their youngest brother; perhaps Kali had helped him recover the rest.

Which meant that Milo hadn't gotten a glimpse of anything he shouldn't have.  _Next time I feel particularly religious,_  Traxis thought wryly,  _I'll have to thank the Force for that._

If the others noticed, they made no indication of it and Traxis kept his expression mild, but something like hope began to uncurl within his chest.

Stonewall took a deep breath and faced Milo, while Kali placed a hand on his shoulder; she'd not stopped touching him since they'd entered the room, and Stonewall leaned into her hand, like she was physically supporting him. For once, though, the sight of them together did not cut in the way it once had. Where jealousy had once been, only affection remained.

No, Traxis realized. Not just affection. There was love too. And longing, though it was not the jealous, impossible kind, but softer and deeper. What would it be like to have someone who loved him so? To have someone who would support him when his strength flagged, pick him up when he fell? To have someone for whom he could return the favor?

On the heels of these thoughts came a crooked smile, eyes that were bright with warmth and humor, and a lilting laugh. Scowling, Traxis tried to push the images back and focus on what was happening before him.

He wasn't sure what to expect with the whole "sharing memories through the Force" thing, but it was pretty underwhelming. Stonewall and Milo stared at each other for what felt like hours, until Milo exhaled and fell back into the cushions, rubbing his forehead and chuckling softly.

"Wow," he said as if to no one in particular. "That was intense."

"Are you alright, Mi?" Weave leaned forward, poised to leap to his brother's aid, but Milo only grinned.

"Yeah _,"_ he said. "I just feel lighter. It's weird, but good."

But Trax only caught this exchange from the corner of his eye. The bulk of his attention was on Stonewall, who'd sagged into Kali's arms again, eyes closed, the fingertips of one hand touching his temple. She brushed his cheek with her hand and he looked at her, and something passed between them, what Traxis could only think of as wordless communication. Finally he nodded once, and smiled, and looked back at the other clones.

"How's it going,  _vod_?" Traxis heard himself say.

Stonewall's gaze slid his way, and his smile widened into one of pure joy. It was the kind of smile that once might've made Traxis think stupid things, but now he only grinned back. "Getting better all the time, Trax," Stonewall replied. He looked between Weave, Crest and Milo but did not otherwise move. "It's really good to see you guys again."

"Fek this," Milo said, jumping to his feet and pulling Stonewall into an embrace.

With the action, what tension had filled the room seemed to ease, and Weave and Crest followed the younger clone's example. Trax remained seated and glanced at Kali, who watched the exchange with bright, blinking eyes; she looked at him and something passed between them. He did not know what it was, let alone how to articulate it, but thought maybe it was understanding.

"Kriffing hell, man," Crest said when he released Stonewall from a brotherly hug. "When you get arrested, you go all the karking way, don't you?"

Stonewall laughed aloud.

Smiling, Kali got to her feet as well and put a hand on Mi's arm. "Are you sure you're okay?" Without waiting for a response, she looked at Weave. "Will you scan him, just in case?"

"On it," Weave said, scanner already in hand.

Milo scoffed, but it was a good-natured sound. "I swear I'm  _fine!_ "

Crest, never one to be left out of teasing, jumped in to offer his two creds. "I dunno, Mi. You're looking a little tired. Say, what time  _did_  you get in last night?"

The dark-haired woman made another remark that Traxis missed, as Stonewall had begun to approach him, his back to the others as he stepped past the couch. Trax rose, slowly, and held out his hand. "Glad to have you back," he said quietly.

His former captain paused and regarded him, light-brown eyes flickering up and down before coming to rest on Trax's face. The others were all too engrossed for the moment to notice the way Stonewall brushed his thumb against Trax's scar, the touch so light it was almost nothing at all. Trax felt his own  _shabla_ expression soften, though for once his fekking heart remained calm. There was no leap of desire, nor sag of bitter, renewed realization; there was only joy, because his  _vod_ had returned.

"Glad to be back," Stonewall said.

Yeah, there was love. But it wasn't the kind that hurt. Not anymore.

Traxis nudged his  _vod's_ arm in a light punch. "Just don't get arrested again _._ The last kriffing thing I want is to haul my  _shebs_ back to Kamino looking for you,  _di'kut_. _"_

Stonewall smiled. "Copy that, Trax."

* * *

Several minutes later, the incongruous chirrup of a comlink made Stonewall's stomach flip even as he automatically reached for his belt, where he'd stowed the one from Tyranus. But it was not there, and dimly he recalled how he'd deactivated and thrown the  _shabla_ thing away.

Maybe Kali had been right. Maybe getting rid of the comlink had been foolish and impulsive, but he could not find any contrition within himself. All he could think was,  _Good fekking riddance._

Stonewall looked back at his wife, who withdrew a comlink from a pouch on her belt. Her eyes widened as she glanced at the transmission's source, and after casting him a quick smile to let him know everything was okay, she stepped away to take the call in relative privacy.

Which left Stonewall alone with Shadow Squad. His brothers. Reclaiming his memories from Milo had simply been a matter of allowing them to return, which they did, and quickly too, rushing back to his mind like a moon-pulled tide. Stonewall's head still spun from the influx, but for the first time in months the sight of other clones did not make him want to retreat. He studied each man and allowed the memories to shuffle back into order, matching names, faces and events. It was still a little strange to be among them, especially when they were happily chatting away, but he thought – he wanted – to get used to the feeling.

"Kali said you were physically unharmed," Weave said, glancing him over with an appraising look. "But I'd feel better if I examined you, just to make sure."

Traxis rolled his eyes. "Kriff, he just got back. Can't the scans wait a fardling minute?"

"Yeah," Crest said. "Besides, we've got a lot of catching up to do. For instance, do you know you have some sort of furry algae growing all over your face?"

Sighing, Stonewall rubbed the scruff that had accumulated on his cheeks and chin. "You don't like it either?"

Crest and Traxis exchanged glances, while Weave pointedly studied his datapad. Milo pulled a face. "I mean, the beard-thing isn't  _bad_ , exactly, it's just...you know, kinda patchy."

"You need a fekking shave and haircut," Traxis broke in, frowning. "We may not be in the GAR any longer, but that's no reason to look like a vaping cave wampa."

"But don't worry about it," Crest added. "We've got your six."

Traxis reached beside his chair and handed Stonewall a standard GAR-issue duffel bag. "It's why we brought this."

Within were remnants of his old life: two familiar blaster pistols, all his miscellaneous gear, even a fresh shower-kit. His armor. Stonewall withdrew the helmet and stared at the T-visor he'd once looked through every day of his life. The white plastoid had been polished to a sheen, but there were still plenty of nicks and dents, only some of which he recalled getting. Most of their origins were nothing more than blank spaces in his mind; there had only been so much of himself he could wall away for safekeeping.

Now, it was like there was intermittent static between him and who he used to be. His stomach curled at the realization. Would he ever be able to reclaim all of his memories, or would he be destined to a lifetime of...disconnection?

The blasters he only gave a cursory glance, but even that was difficult. When he looked at them, he remembered  _too_ much: their heft, the kickback from firing, the dull thud of a target as it crumpled to the ground. A burning, tight feeling took root in his throat and refused to be swallowed away; he'd done too much damage with weapons like those, and he did not know if he could bring himself to touch them again.

But the bucket's weight was familiar in his hands, and he wondered if muscle memory was one of those things that could not be forgotten. It was more than a comfort. It was  _right._ When he'd lain with Kali earlier, it'd been like coming home again, but this, too, was a kind of homecoming.

Stonewall regarded the smiling men who surrounded him. Outwardly, he was still one of them, but inwardly, he was still...different. That much, at least, had not changed, and he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. "When I was gone..."

He trailed off in a hot flush of shame and looked back down at the helmet. Would they be so welcoming if they knew what he'd done?

The touch of a hand on his shoulder made him look up again, into Crest's soft smile. "It's okay. You can fill us in when you're ready."

"You're back and in one piece," Weave added. "That's what matters most."

"Come on,  _vod,_ " Trax said quietly. "Time to get kitted up. We've got work to do."

Throat suddenly tight, Stonewall could only nod.

A few minutes later he'd shaved off the stubble and Crest was trimming his hair to a more respectable length. As he sat on the closed toilet seat to allow Crest easy access to the top of his head, Stonewall frowned over something Trax had said.

"What do you mean, we're not in the GAR any longer?"

The 'fresher in Kali's quarters was not quite large enough to accommodate all five clones, though that didn't stop them from gathering together; while Crest ran a set of clippers over Stonewall's head, Weave leaned against the sink, while Trax and Milo stood near the door. At the question, they exchanged looks.

Weave replied first, speaking louder to be heard over the buzz of the clippers. "When we arrived, Queen Hari granted us asylum. Technically...we can't be forced into military service."

"It hasn't really affected us yet," Crest added as he paused to regard his handiwork. "We've pretty much stuck around here since that first landing, but it's still bizarre. Turn left."

Milo cleared his throat. "Levy hacked into the GAR database and looked up our numbers. He said that Shadow Squad has been decommissioned – except you, Stonewall. You're listed as 'deceased.'"

Stonewall felt his brothers' surprise in the Force as surely as if it were his own. Perhaps some of it was, as the news was...unexpected.  _Not in the GAR_. Perhaps he should have seen it coming, given his Force-sensitivity and his marriage to a Jedi Knight, but it still felt strange.

 _But it shouldn't_ , he thought, frowning. He'd figured his officer status had been revoked upon his arrest, but to be classified as 'dead' was not something he'd considered.

"I guess not. But I feel pretty good for being a dead man," he managed after a beat, and was relieved when some of his brothers' tension dissipated as they chuckled.

Weave regarded the younger clone. "Levy  _hacked_  into the GAR?" At Milo's nod, the medic let out a low whistle. "That's no easy task. I knew he was talented at that sort of thing, but I had no idea..."

"D'you think anyone will still try to come for us?" Milo asked.

"If no one has tried to haul us back by now, I don't think they will," Crest replied.

Traxis nodded. "Between Baldy's press conference and General Vos' report, I'm sure the whole fardling Senate knows where we are."

Stonewall nearly shook his head in confusion, but remembered to hold still. "Press conference? What the kriff have you lot been up to? And who's General..." A faint memory bubbled to the surface of his mind as he recalled a conversation Kali had had with him some time ago. Oh,  _that_ General Vos. Fan-kriffing-tastic. "Vos came here?"

"Yeah. Then me and Trax went with him to Kamino," Milo said quietly, looking at his boots. "To search for you."

For a few minutes, the only sound was the steady buzz of the clippers, until Weave cleared his throat and began to relate the story of the press conference, and Queen Hari's hopes to give irreparably "damaged" clones a second chance. An admirable goal, to be sure, but Stonewall could not help but wonder if the rest of the galaxy would agree.

"There are already rehabilitation centers on Chandrila, Naboo and Alderaan," Weave was saying. "Those worlds already had adequate facilities in place, so it was just a matter of bringing clones to them; we're still waiting on construction to finish for the RC here, but hopefully it won't be too much longer."

"How many wounded men have been sent to those other centers?" Stonewall asked.

Weave's eyes were alight and he was nodding before the words had even left Stonewall's mouth. "At least sixty clones have been relocated from places like Kaliida Shoals and ArmyMed. We're slated to receive transfers here in a month or so."

"Zero and the rest of the guys from The Dregs are already here," Milo added. "So are Ward and Halligan. Kali was anxious to get them out of Sector Nine." Though it was just the five of them, he dropped his voice to a conspiratorial register. "They're all still kind of jerks, but they're getting better."

"Training's paying off," Traxis added smugly.

Stonewall frowned at his scarred brother. "Training?"

"We're putting Misfit Squad through their paces." Crest straightened and shut off the clippers. "Getting that lot into shape is an uphill battle, but it's a worthy one, all things considered." His voice and posture both held traces of a confidence that Stonewall did not recognize, a kind that went deeper than a mere memory of his and Crest's shared history.

Then the bald clone stepped back and grinned at him. "Looks good, if I do say so myself. You're done – unless you want a closer shave like Yours Truly."

Stonewall skimmed a hand over his newly-trimmed hair; the strands were a centimeter long, as short as possible, though still within regulation. Not that regs mattered so much any longer, but the sensation of hair against his palm reminded him that this was the only length he'd been able to tolerate beneath his bucket without going bald like Crest.

"Take a look," Crest said as he put the clippers back in their case. "Tips aren't necessary, but are appreciated."

The others stepped aside so Stonewall could look in the mirror. It was the first time he'd really seen his own face in several weeks at least. He did not entirely recognize the man who stared back. Fek, those were deep shadows under his eyes, and he'd lost too much muscle mass. He hadn't kept up with his conditioning as he should have, nor had he eaten much. Would his armor even fit him any longer? Why hadn't he noticed the state he was in before?

He hadn't wanted to notice. He'd been living in ignorance, some of which was painfully willful. Something hard and cold settled in the pit of his stomach. Kali claimed none of what happened had been his fault, but he could not pawn all of the blame onto someone else's shoulders. His memory may have been altered; his principles should  _not_  have been. But he'd killed. No...murdered. He'd orphaned at least one innocent child.

Even as guilt threatened to pull him under, his wife's words returned.  _The past is past, and the future is always in motion. The only thing you can truly shape is the present._  He squared his shoulders and stared down the man in the mirror. His present was his again, and he had so much to live for. He would reclaim his future – for his son's sake, if nothing else.

"Levy will be pleased to see you,  _vod,_ " Milo said with a grin. He, like Crest, had a different sort of bearing than Stonewall remembered, even from their shared time in The Dregs; though he still practically quivered with excitement, there was a more measured quality to his speech. "And I can't  _wait_ to see the look on Zero's face when you stroll through the barracks."

Had all of Stonewall's brothers changed in similar ways? It made sense, he supposed, but he could not suppress a flare of sorrow that he'd not been present for any of it, and that they'd likely been forced to change because of the trouble that he'd brought upon them.

But none of that was their fault, so Stonewall glanced between each man and nodded. "Barracks, huh? I'd like to see those."

"We thought you would," Weave said.

There was a clean body glove in the bag as well, along with a spare set of fatigues. His brothers gave him space to change, and he found himself sliding into the black fabric like a second skin, though it was, to his annoyance, a bit loose. Thankfully the armor fit without much trouble, and holy fek, it was good to hear the  _click_  of plastoid as he fastened the chest-piece into place.

As he was buckling his  _kama_ , Kali returned from her comm-call and swept her eyes over his form before meeting his gaze. "How do you feel?"

Stonewall shrugged; the armored plating shifted with the motion, but remained comfortably in place. "More like myself."

"You look it," she said, smiling.

"I'll need to start training again," he added as they stepped into the main living area, where his brothers were waiting. When he entered the room, they sat up and regarded him. "I lost a lot of conditioning over the last two months."

"You're not that far gone," Weave said, glancing up from his datapad. "But we'll help you get back to how you were."

Traxis nodded. "'I'd wager you're still in better shape than Misfit Squad."

"Though that's not saying much," Crest added wryly, making Milo chuckle.

Kali smiled as well, though there was a distant look in her eyes, like her mind was far away. "What is it?" he asked. "Did you get bad news?"

"The opposite." She settled on one of the couches and curled her knees under her while Stonewall sat at her side. "Stone and Mi, you won't know this, but the rest of you might remember that I made a comm-call to Ro, that night we went to Dex's. I needed to speak with a friend of hers, a Jedi named Djinn Altis."

Weave winced. Trax coughed into his glove and looked away, and Crest exhaled. "Yeah, we remember. Wren called back," he explained to Stonewall and Milo. "He was a sweetheart, as usual."

Milo rolled his eyes. "That guy is extra-strength crazy."

Kali's mouth twitched like she was fighting back a smile. "When Ro came on, she offered to pass along my request. It's been a while, but Master Altis finally got back to me. He's agreed to come here; we've a lot to discuss."

"Like what?" Stonewall asked.

As would any proper Jedi, Kali folded her hands before her, though her fingers laced over her growing belly. "The future."


	47. Chapter Forty-Six

Please accept my sincere apologies for missing an update last week! Real Life, blah, blah, blah. I hope you enjoy today's chapter. :)

Lyrics:[ "Fearless," by Pink Floyd, from  _Meddle._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uCgQuj8v2gg&index=47&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp)

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Six**

_Every day is the right day._

Kali shaded her eyes with her hand and squinted against the dust kicked up by Master Altis' ship as it descended into the palace hangar. The whine of the  _Wookiee Gunner's_ engines drowned out the drum of her heartbeat, but it could not quite distract her from the roiling in her stomach. Several meters away, the ship settled onto the permacrete, and she took a deep breath.

 _Calm,_ she schooled herself _._  Master Altis had been pleasant in their brief comm-call three days ago, though the curiosity in his voice had been evident. He'd certainly reached Aruna quickly enough.

She took another breath. Perhaps she could blame her nerves on the pregnancy, but it wouldn't be the truth. No, her agitation stemmed from another, farther-reaching source, of which Master Altis was only a small portion.

Beside her, Stonewall shifted a hairsbreadth closer, and she felt his warm, solid presence in her mind as he bolstered her meager attempts at staving off her nerves. The roil ceased; her heartbeat steadied. She glanced at her husband in surprise, but his helmeted face was turned forward, toward the lowering ramp of the Altisian Jedi's ship.

A slender man emerged, clothed in practical boots and nerf-leather jacket, though the lightsaber swinging from his belt marked him for what he was. His dark silver hair was a bit scruffy, as was his short beard, but his blue eyes were kind. He was alone.

Kali met him at the foot of the ramp and gave a formal bow, a motion that was ingrained from years of Temple training. "Thank you for coming so quickly, Master."

Djinn Altis stuck out his hand and shook hers. "It's good to see you again, Kali. How long has it been?"

"Stars..." She frowned in thought. "A good eight years, if not more."

"Too long," he replied, smiling. "How are you feeling?"

This was said with a glance at her swelling stomach, and she placed a hand on the lower curve. "A little nauseous, and there are times I can't decide whether to laugh or cry – or eat – but mostly I'm fine."

Master Altis gave a somewhat heavy sigh. "I have to say, it's difficult to believe you're going to be a mother." His gaze fell on a point beyond her shoulder, where Stonewall had come to stand. "I still remember her as a lanky little girl, covered in mud and running circles around Jonas."

Stonewall's head tilted her way. "Covered in mud?"

"It's a long story," Kali said quickly as her face heated, though the amusement in his Force-presence made her smile. "I'll tell you later."

"I'll hold you to that," he said, a grin in his voice.

She rolled her eyes and looked again at Altis. "Master, this is Stonewall." She hesitated, and felt silly for it. There was no reason to hesitate before the leader of the Altisian Jedi. If anyone would understand her situation, it would be Djinn Altis. So she added, "My husband."

Stone removed his bucket and saluted in one smooth formal motion. "It's good to meet you, sir."

Force, he looked better already, and it was not simply due to the haircut and shave. Being around his family for the last week had restored some of his vigor, though at times, when he thought no one could see, she caught him staring into the shadows. And there were the nightmares...

Master Altis shook his hand as well, though there was a more considering look in his eyes than before, and his Force-presence rippled with curiosity. "Ah, you're the new Force-sensitive?"

"It's not quite so new any longer, sir," Stonewall said, sliding into the semi-formal posture of parade-rest: feet shoulder-width apart, hands behind his back. "It's been about a year, and I've more or less gotten used to it."

"That's a feat in and of itself," Altis replied, eyes crinkling. "There are days where I find myself still in awe of the Force, let alone the fact that I can access it. Kalinda has shared a little of your story with me, but I would like to hear your perspective."

Stonewall lifted a brow. "Certainly, sir. How much time do you have?"

The Jedi Master chuckled, but a flicker of sorrow slid through his Force-presence. It faded quickly, though, and his next words were calm. "Never enough, unfortunately, but I make do."

"Queen Hari sends her regards," Kali added, indicating the hangar doors with a nod, and the three began to walk. "She's tied up in Parliament now, but would like to join us for dinner. In the meantime, I thought we could show you how the rehabilitation center is coming along."

A gleam of excitement appeared in Altis' eyes. "I'd like that very much."

* * *

About half an hour later, Kali, Stone and Altis stepped out of the dusty Rudral street and into the dusty construction site. Arunai workers were clustered throughout the building, though Kali had little idea of exactly what each of them was doing. The place had a roof, floor and walls; beyond that, she was clueless. Additionally, the buzzing, whining, scraping, and other construction noises seemed loud enough to deafen. Kali immediately regretted not bringing earplugs, and she could not help but clap her hands over her ears in a most un-Jedi-like manner.

Stonewall, of course, was protected in more ways than one by his kit. The baffles in his helmet damped the worst of the din, so he ushered the Jedi along to a less noisy area, which turned out to be an indoor gym. It also held the rest of the clones – sans Weave, Cobble and Levy – all of whom had taken on the task of getting this area in shape for their brothers' rehabilitation.

The room was cavernous, complete with skylights and several padded floors for sparring, along with an indoor track that ran along the perimeter. Currently, the clones were assembling what looked like a climbing wall. Traxis, Crest and Milo each worked with teams of Misfit Squad clones to assemble the different sections, all of which made up an obstacle course that could be altered to suit the fitness level of the participants.

"Impressive," Altis said as the three walked the room's edge. "Is this similar to what the GAR uses to train your fellows?"

This was said to Stonewall, who'd removed his bucket again. He considered a moment, then nodded. "I believe it's about as close as they could get. But I wasn't here for most of the planning. That would be the rest of Shadow Squad."

Remorse colored his words, though faintly, and he watched the others with an expression Kali could only think of as longing. It faded almost at once, though, as he looked back at the Jedi Master. "We could ask Weave, my medic. He's probably holed up in the medcenter wing."

"He and Honi have taken to terrorizing most of the Aruani medical staff assisting with all of this." Kali chuckled. "Well, Honi does most of the terrorizing. Weave is more quietly capable."

Stone smiled as well. "They've all taken to life outside the GAR like Hutts to credits."

"I'm glad to hear that," Altis replied with a smile. "It seems a waste for you and your brothers to only feel suited for warfare if there are other options." He gave Kali a deliberate look. "Everyone has the ability to learn more than what they are taught."

It was an invitation, but she hesitated again. Why was she so nervous? Why was it so difficult to say what she needed to say?

 _Because once you voice these things, they will be real, and soon you will pass another point of no return._ She met Stonewall's eyes and was able to gather her courage. "Master...I didn't ask you here just to look over all of this. I've been thinking of my family's future; my child's, my husband's...and my own."

Blue eyes met hers, and again, there was kindness in the Jedi Master's regard, though she sensed traces of sorrow, too. "You didn't expressly say, but I thought as much."

Kali rested her hands on her stomach and took another deep breath. "I think it's safe to say that Mace will not be amenable to letting me remain in the Order if I'm married  _and_  knocked up. What do I have to do to join the Altisians?"

Altis ran a thoughtful hand along his beard, eyes twinkling. "Well, there's a secret handshake you must first learn, and of course, the infamous 'Riddles Three,' to solve..." At Kali's look he chuckled outright. "Forgive me, Kali. This is not a joking manner."

But she grinned as well, for some of the tension within her had eased. "I'm not put off by a few silly riddles."

"What about the handshake?" Stonewall asked wryly.

"I think I could manage it," she replied with a chuckle. She looked back at Altis. "Is it really as simple as...just wanting to join?"

"For those who train with me, or follow the path I walk, it very often is a matter of saying, 'yes, this is what I want to do,'" he said slowly. "But for someone who has lived her entire life under the aegis of the 'traditional' Order...the situation is more complex." He slanted her a knowing look. "You should talk to them first, Kali. And I cannot guarantee how they will react."

Not very well, she'd wager. Kali could picture Mace's frown of disapproval all-too-well, and Obi-Wan would be hurt, though he'd take pains not to show it. Her throat tightened as the reality sunk in further; could she really walk away from the path she'd followed her entire life?

But she already had. She'd chosen her own way a long time ago. Perhaps only now was she truly understanding how to embrace that choice.

So she exhaled and nodded once. "I'd want to tell them in person. It wouldn't be right to do it over holo or comm-call."

Stonewall frowned. "Is it safe for you to go to Corrie? Won't you be arrested?"

Her stomach twisted at the notion, but she kept her voice steady. "I have to go back, Stonewall, at least one last time. I don't think they would arrest me, and if they did..." She took a shaking breath. "Well, I've not done anything truly heinous. The worst thing the Council could do would be to banish me from the Order."

"Or throw you in a detention cell for stealing GAR property," he replied darkly.

They'd talked at length about the days following his arrest, and Kali sighed. "I returned the speeder, Stonewall."

He slid his gaze to Milo, Traxis and Crest, who were peering over a holomap of schematics for the room. "I'm not talking about the speeder."

"They're not in the army any longer." She narrowed her eyes. "They're no one's property."

Her husband shook his head. "I agree, but I don't think the GAR will see it that way. And there's the little matter of the fact that Tyranus ordered me to..." His voice wavered, but he pushed on. "Ordered me to kill you. What if he pulls the same stunt with another operative?"

"It's no secret I'm on Aruna now," Kali replied firmly. "If that kark wants to send someone else after me, he knows where I can be found. And if so, isn't it wiser to travel to another world in the meantime?"

"Corrie's not exactly hidden," he muttered.

"Stone, I can't say what I need to say to Mace over a holo," Kali said. "The Council will already see my actions as a betrayal. I must talk with them face-to-face. It wouldn't be honorable, otherwise. I know it's a risk, Stone, but it's a risk I have to take. Please try to understand."

Stonewall said nothing for a moment, nor did he look at her or Altis, or even his brothers. His gaze seemed to turn inward, until at last he nodded once. "When do we leave?"

"We?"

He gave a bark of laughter. "If you think I'm letting you go off alone after all we've been through..."

Altis had kept a respectful silence while the married couple debated, but now he cleared his throat. "I doubt it will help, but you will have my support. Though," he added wryly, "I'd appreciate it if you told Yoda that I did not have a hand in this decision. I'm convinced he thinks I'm constantly trying to poach his people."

Kali smiled. "I'll tell him I came to you of my own accord."

"Thank you." Altis glanced at Stonewall, who was watching his brothers again. "What about you?"

"Me, sir?" Stonewall blinked at the Jedi Master.

"Are you planning on joining the Altisians along with your wife?"

Stone's brow furrowed. "With respect, I'm not strong enough with the Force to be trained as a Jedi."

Altis shrugged. "Some of my students are not Force-sensitive at all, but they find the path a fulfilling one. Besides, I've a terrible habit of not turning anyone away." He winked at Kali. "Your friend Ro Arhen can attest to that."

Hope and excitement flared in Kali's chest, but she kept her emotions in check. The possibility of Stonewall joining the Altisians had occurred to her, but it was the sort of decision that he had to come to on his own. She pitched her voice to be neutral. "It might be worth considering, Stone. There's only so much I can teach you, after all."

"I...I don't know," he said slowly. "I'll have to think about it."

"Please do," Altis replied. "We'd be happy to have you." He smiled at Kali again, and his gaze dropped to her belly. "All of you."

* * *

_That evening..._

Zara tried to keep her head down, as a respectful Padawan should, but she couldn't stop herself from sneaking glances at the Altisian Jedi Master across the dinner table _._ He didn't  _look_ like a Jedi Master, but then, the Altisians were practically another breed of Jedi entirely. Or at least, that was the impression she'd been given back at the Temple. As far as his mannerisms went, she couldn't quite place what made him a dissident in the Order's eyes. Mostly he seemed like a nice, older Human male. He smiled a lot.

"There is definitely a different feel to Rudral than when I was here last," he was saying to Queen Hari, who sat beside Kalinda at one end of the long, low table. The queen, the Jedi and the members of Shadow Squad were seated in the room the clones had adopted as their barracks, enjoying a dinner of stewed bhillen with qana beans and seedbread.

Queen Hari dipped her head in a graceful nod. "It will take some time for a shift to true democracy to take place, but I hope to see it happen in my lifetime."

"I must admit, I was not expecting Parliament to vote you as the new Speaker," Kalinda said. "Will you be happy in that position?"

The Arunai woman toyed with the base of her water glass. "Happy, and strangely relieved. The vote was a surprise to me as well, but I feel this is a role I'm better suited for...though of course only time will tell."

"You'll be wonderful." Crest's voice was uncommonly quiet; only because Zara was seated beside him did she hear his words. If the queen heard him, she did not respond, only looked back at her dinner.

Master Altis buttered a piece of seedbread. "Change is the only constant. It's admirable that Aruna is taking this step, and others. I must admit," he added, glancing at Kali, "I was not expecting the rehabilitation center to be so–"

"It's still under construction." Master Tallis was seated on Zara's other side, and had kept silent so far. "But I believe it will be sufficient upon completion."

The Altisian Jedi smiled at her. "I've heard good things about your involvement, Knight Tallis. I meant to say I was not expecting the rehabilitation center to be so easily accepted."

Zara's Master made no reply other than a curt nod, and Zara sighed inwardly. As fascinating as  _she_ found Mater Altis, Honi seemed to think no better of him than something found beneath the sole of her boot.

Seemingly unconcerned, Altis glanced at Weave, seated between Crest and Milo. "I've heard good things about your involvement as well."

The medic sat up a little straighter. "Thank you, sir. I'm confident that we can provide the best care for the men who find their way here. It's been exciting to be a part of something like this. And..." He trailed off and, to Zara's surprise, shot a brief glance at Honi, who studiously ignored him in favor of sipping her water. "Well, let's just say I'm thankful I can be of use even though I'm technically not in the army any longer."

Strange. Hadn't Honi been friendly with Weave? Why was she acting like he didn't exist? Zara picked out the spicier bits of her bhillen, frowning. Who knew, with her Master?  _She_ still liked Weave, at any rate, even if he'd become a little oddly fixated on the nanodroids recently. She'd pretty much given up on them in favor of helping Honi with the medcenter, but as far as she knew, Weave had taken to studying the things at all hours – when he wasn't engrossed with the rehabilitation center.

"What are we going to do if we won't be going on missions?" Milo asked, swallowing a mouthful of qana beans.

Kali exchanged glances with Stonewall, and the former captain spoke. "You can do what you like, Mi. You're a free man. We all are."

"Don't you think that's a good thing?" Kali asked.

"Yeah, it's good, but it's weird, too." Milo rested his chin in his hand and glanced around the table. "I never thought I'd  _not_ be in the GAR. And my arm's about back to full-speed, so I don't know that I'm a candidate for the RC."

"You're doing good work here," Crest pointed out. "Helping Trax train up Misfit Squad is no easy task, and there'll only be more  _vode_ to help once those transfers come through."

Milo nodded, but his Force-presence rippled with something Zara could only think of as uncertainty. Perhaps Kalinda sensed this, for she cleared her throat, drawing everyone's eyes to her and away from Milo. "This is as good a time as any to say that Stone and I are planning a trip back to Corrie, and anyone who'd like to come is welcome."

She slanted Honi and Zara a knowing look, and Zara's  _lekku_ twitched at the thought of returning to the Order – and the Wars. Why, she had no clue. Master Tallis, however, only nodded calmly. "Zara and I will join you. It's time."

"Is the Council very angry with us?" Zara asked.

Kali opened her mouth to reply, but it was Honi who spoke. "Perhaps," she said quietly, giving Zara one of her solemn looks. "But what fault there is to be found here lies only on my shoulders, not yours."

"But I snuck away..."

"Which you would not have done if I had remained at the Temple," Honi replied.

"But–"

"Zara." Her Master's voice was sharp, but softened immediately. "Your job is to focus on your studies. Let me worry about the Council. Please," she added, almost as an afterthought.

 _Please._ The word sounded a bit strange coming from her abrasive Master, but Zara nodded. "Okay. Thanks."

"There's no need to thank me, Zara," Honi said stiffly. "It's my job to look out for you, though I've done a poor one so far." This was said quietly, so that only Zara could hear, and again, the Padawan didn't know quite what to think.

So she grinned at Kali. "Looks like we're coming with you."

"I'd like to tag along, too," Milo added, sitting up straight. "And I think Lev does as well; he mentioned that his former squad was on Triple Zero."

The dark-haired Jedi nodded. "Of course. Ward and Halligan will also probably want to join us. Which reminds me...I need to figure out if they'll be allowed to join one of the legions stationed onplanet."

Crest snorted. "Maybe if you ask Commander Fox  _really_  nicely..."

"That  _di'kut_  would probably just as soon toss her in a cell on principle," Traxis said with a glare at no one in particular.

"No one's tossing anyone in a cell," Stonewall replied, lifting his chin. "But that's not a bad idea about the Corrie Guard."

Kalinda studied her husband. "I'm not sure how much clout I have any longer; if I made a request, I doubt it would even be considered."

"Don't worry about it," Stonewall replied. "I'll handle Fox."

Startled exclamations rose from the other clones. "You can't be kriffing serious," Crest said as he shook his head. "You do know that Foxy was the guy who  _arrested_  you, right?"

"What's to stop him from trying that  _osik_  again?" Traxis added darkly.

But Stonewall's expression was calm as he regarded his brothers. "Me."

There was a weight to the word, accompanied by a slight change in the pheromones he emanated; his Force-presence grew heavy with intent. "I meant what I said," he added. "No one's getting arrested this time."

Weave frowned. "Force-sensitive or not, the Guard has ways of overpowering anyone. Surely you remember  _that_."

A thin smile cut across the former captain's face. "I remember,  _vod_. But," his eyes darted to his wife, "they'll have to catch me first."

Silence fell over the group for a few moments, though judging by the looks Kali and her husband were shooting each other, and the ripples in their Force-presences, the two of them were engrossed in their own conversation. Honi had explained to Zara that the married couple could speak to each other in the Force, though even she had been at something of a loss as to the former captain's Force-abilities.

Zara tried not to sigh too loudly, or let her sudden, gloomy feeling slip free. Would she and her Master ever manage to communicate like that? What if their bond never grew that strong?

At last, Queen Hari cleared her throat. "Will you all return to the Core, then?"

The other clones shifted and glanced at each other. Weave spoke first. "I'm neck-deep in work here. I'd like to stay."

Stonewall nodded. "I thought as much. Well, Mi's on board; Crest, Trax...what about you two?"

"I'm not sure, actually." Crest emanated uncertainty, and regret salted the air around him. "Do you need me to come along?"

Kali and Stonewall exchanged glances again. "I don't anticipate this trip to the Core being as eventful as our last journey," the Jedi said slowly. "But there's no telling what will happen once we arrive."

Relief washed through Crest's Force-presence and he smiled. "Then you definitely need someone to watch your six. I'll tag along as well." He pulled a face. "Just as long as I don't have to hold another press conference."

Only because she happened to be glancing at her water to take a sip did Zara notice how Queen Hari tensed at his words, looking at her plate and stirring the bhillen around as if her appetite had suddenly fled.

Master Altis regarded the bald clone. "You changed a lot of minds that day, which is no easy task, I assure you."

Crest's neck darkened. "I could have done without the, er,  _personal_ questions."

The others chuckled, and Stonewall glanced at Traxis. "And you?"

The scarred clone was silent for a moment, face expressionless, though his Force-presence told another story. Anxiety, longing, and sorrow; they added a sharper edge to him than Zara had felt before. But his voice was steady. "Baldy put it well enough: You need someone to watch your six."

The former captain studied Traxis, forehead creased, but he nodded after a beat and looked back at his wife. "We're going to need a big ship."

* * *

A/N: Bonus points if you can spot the teensy nod to _Dragon Age: Origins_. ;)


	48. Chapter Forty-Eight

A/N: Once again, there's a bit more  _fiction_ rather than  _science_ in this chapter. Thanks for bearing with me. :)

Lyrics: ["Hero," by Family Of the Year, from  _Loma Vista._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mYFaghHyMKc&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp&index=48)

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Seven**

_So let me go._

_I don't wanna be your hero,_

_I don't wanna be a big man,_

_I just wanna fight with everyone else._

"Crest."

He froze, barely one step over the corridor that led to the barracks.  _So close._ Keeping his face carefully neutral, Crest turned to the Arunai queen. Or, rather, the  _former_ queen. "Sita?"

Dinner had ended a few minutes ago, and he'd had a mind to talk with Ward, Halligan, and the others to see if any of them wanted to take a trip to the Core. Anything would be preferable to looking at the white-haired woman and wishing he wasn't such a kriffing,  _shabla, di'kut._ She was dressed simply, for her. A pale green, shimmersilk dress clung to her hips and highlighted her cinnamon skin. Though it was probably a perfectly respectable thing to wear to dinner, he couldn't help wonder how the silk would feel beneath his fingertips.

"You are going to Coruscant." It was not a question, nor could he detect any hint of emotion behind her words.

So he nodded. "It's looking that way. Is that..." He hesitated; what was the protocol, where they stood with each other? He had no clue, so he fell back on the tried and true tactic of a stupid joke. "Would you like a souvenir?"

A faint smile flickered over her lips, but she shook her head. "I've something to run by you."

Sita smelled like jasmine, and his  _di'kut_  heart beat faster at the hint of good humor, even after he'd refused her that night in the garden. To hopefully keep this from showing, he slid into the familiar posture of parade-rest. "Shoot."

"Would you be willing to meet with some contacts of mine in the Senate?"

There was no kriffing way she was serious, so Crest let out a bark of laughter loud enough to echo through the empty, marbled corridor. "Sure. After that, maybe I can have tea with Chancellor Palpatine."

Sita's blue eyes narrowed a fraction, though her voice remained steady. "I can assure you, it is no joke."

His cheeks warmed and he felt a smile plaster itself onto his face, as sometimes happened when he was stunned. "Uh...okay. But..." He exhaled and managed to snap out of his surprise. "What kind of contacts are you talking about? Senators?"

"Just a few," she said, smoothing back a strand of white hair that had come undone from one of her many braids. "Senators Amidala and Mothma, in particular, were most impressed with your press conference and have asked to meet with you. I was not certain if you'd be able, but if you are planning a trip to Coruscant anyway..."

She spread her hands and let him fill in the rest. Kriffing hell. She  _was_ serious. Crest leaned against an obliging wall and rubbed his forehead. His entire life had detonated into something totally unexpected, which was fitting enough for an ordnance-man...except for the whole "unexpected" bit. When dealing with high-powered explosive devices, "unexpected" was one of those words you never wanted to hear.

It took him a moment to find the right response. "I'm just a clone. Last time I checked, there were plenty of us on Corrie. Why do they want to meet  _me_?"

"You have no idea, do you?" The look she gave him was part exasperation, part affection. When he frowned, she tilted her head in invitation. "Let me show you." Immediately, her cheeks flushed and she cleared her throat. "It's nothing...inappropriate, I assure you."

Fek, she was beautiful when she blushed. And when she didn't. She was beautiful, always. Then she added, softly, "I will honor your wishes."

Of course she would. Because she was sensible – more than he was, at any rate – and she knew that "the right thing to do" sometimes sucked laser. But he could not stop from wishing he'd just have said to  _haran_ with it all that night, and just let himself – let both of them – get swept away.  _I'm such a kriffing moron._

 _No, you're not,_ he reminded himself as he nodded to her.  _You want what's best for you both... even though it hurts._

Which it did. A lot. Especially when he could find no trace of  _Sita_ within  _Queen Hari's_ cool words.

Sita led him through the corridors on silent steps, though her bracelets jingled softly. Neither spoke. They passed several marble and gold statues easily three times taller than he was, and soon crossed into a portion of the palace Crest had never been. The royal quarters, he supposed, given that the opulence-factor had increased exponentially.

"Did you ever get used to it?" he asked as she paused before an entryway, where two guards stood on either side. He couldn't make out their faces through their helmets, but he imagined they were giving him death-glares, as Captain Biswal had done more than once.

She entered the lock-code and the door slid open. "To what?"

Crest followed the soon-to-be-former queen inside her private quarters and gaped. Everything was marble, gold, or silk, or some combination of the three, with sleek, polished wood thrown in for good measure. There were more tapestries and delicate-looking statues than a kriffing museum. Her sitting room made the quarters his family had been given look sparse as any barracks aboard a Star Destroyer.

The sight confirmed what he already knew: it didn't matter that she wouldn't be queen much longer, because there were great things in her future. Maybe she'd finally drag this world, kicking and screaming, into true democracy. Maybe she'd follow in Senator Amidala's footsteps and become a senator. Hell, maybe one day she'd become the kriffing Supreme Chancellor. It didn't really matter; Sita would flourish wherever she landed.

But there would still be no place for a displaced clone soldier among such splendor.

"To...this," he managed, swinging his arm to encompass the room. "It's...I mean, your parents were farmers, and now you live...here."

She'd already crossed the space to another door, where she paused to glance around, pale brows furrowed. "If I think about it overmuch, yes, it is odd," she said after a moment. "But in truth I hardly notice the grandeur anymore. Besides," she added as she made to open this door, "I will not be here much longer."

He didn't follow her into the secondary room, but stood nearby while she slipped inside. "What will happen when you step down? Do you have to move? What will they do with the palace?"

Sita emerged a few moments later, carrying a datapad. "I will probably remain here, in one of the smaller wings. Many government officials reside on the palace grounds, including members of Parliament. I've asked the Commission for Historical Preservation if they'd like to maintain the royal quarters for public viewing, but I'm not sure what they will do." She settled on a sofa with a curving back and glanced at him. "Will you sit?"

"Yeah, but I'm afraid I'll get it dirty," he said with a chuckle as he sat beside her, though he was careful to keep a few hand spans between them. He tried not to smell her hair, or look too closely at the curve of her cheeks and lips, and instead funneled his attention to the datapad she held up. "What's..."

The question died in his throat as he saw the vid. It was his  _shabla_ press conference, and judging by the hit counter on the HoloNet viewing page...

"Six hundred  _million_?" Crest's mouth fell open as he stared at the vid. "Are you...this is a joke. This isn't real. There's no effing way  _six hundred million_ people have watched this  _osik_."

"You underestimate your influence," she said gently as she set the datapad in her lap and regarded him. "Crest...you made an impact on those who watched you. You reached people on a level no other clone has managed, in part because no other clone has been given the chance to speak as you have. Republic citizens once saw your brothers as expendable flesh-droids; because of you, now they are starting to understand that you are  _men._ "

The room felt like it was spinning and for one moment, Crest thought he was clinging to an airspeeder as it veered through Coruscanti traffic. He sure as kriff felt like he was going to puke. "This is fragging thermal. I'm nobody."

"That's not true." Her voice softened and out of the corner of his eye, he saw her look away. "In any case, this is why Senators Amidala and Mothma wish to speak with you. There is talk of combining the efforts of our separate rehabilitation facilities with clone interest groups like CETOC, but they would like a clone's opinion. Given your involvement thus far, you were the logical choice."

Crest leaned forward and put his head in his hands, still working to orient himself. His thoughts chased each other in circles and he could hardly tell up from down. This entire situation was beyond insane.  _What the fek am I supposed to do? Nothing in the fardling galaxy prepared me for this._

"Crest?" She touched his shoulder, though she lifted her hand almost immediately. "Are you ill?"

"Not yet," he groaned. "Just give me a minute. Fek. It's just a lot to wrap my head around."

She was silent for a few moments, then said, carefully, "You don't have to do any of this if you don't want to. My intention has never been to make you uncomfortable or unhappy. I just..." She sighed heavily. "I saw an opportunity for positive change, and took it. I didn't think of how it would affect you. I'm sorry."

This shook him out of his stunned haze and made him look into her eyes, which widened. "Did you know what would happen?" He nodded to the datapad. "Did you know the press conference thing would blow up like that?"

"I had no idea any of this would spread beyond Aruna. I challenged the Senate in my speech, but I did not expect them to truly listen."

He managed a hoarse laugh. "From what I understand,  _listening_ isn't their strong suit."

They sat in silence for a little longer as he tried to figure out what to think about this karking mess. Oddly, once he managed to look past his utter, total shock –  _six hundred kriffing million!_ – he was curious.  _Could_ he truly have any sort of impact on how clones were regarded on a broad scale? What the  _shab_ was he supposed to say to senators, anyway? Kriff...did he have to get a suit, or something fancy to wear? Would his armor suffice? What if they wanted to take him to some swanky dinner? He had no clue what fork to use for which dish–

"Crest?"

It was barely a whisper. Alarmed, he glanced up and realized she was blinking rapidly, eyes bright but downcast. His danger sense began to blare a warning, and he leaned closer to her. "Sita? Are you alright? What's wrong?"

Sita shook her head. "I'm such a fool," she murmured. "You don't want me. Gods above, I'm trying to honor that, but..."

 _You don't want me._ A thousand contrary words came to his lips, but he kept his silence. Nothing was further from the truth, and she sounded so stricken. But if he went back on his words now, she would regret it forever.

Even so, on some stupid whim he touched her cheek, though this time he managed to not kiss her again. "You're not a fool, Sita."

After all,  _he_ was the one dumb enough to fall for the queen of a planet. Even though she wouldn't be queen much longer, she would still be in a position of power, still be out of his reach. And even if none of that were true, she'd been nothing but professional to him since that night in the garden. Clearly, she was trying to take his words to heart, which proved that she agreed with him on some level.

Crest sighed. He should just take a page out of Mi's manual and find a nice, uncomplicated girl to have fun with.

He  _should._ But he wouldn't. Di'kut _, indeed._

Sita met his eyes, lips parted as if about to speak again, and he had the sudden, wild notion that she would be the one to close this distance with a kiss...

But no. Queen Hari exhaled and eased her features into a professional, calm expression, and shook her head once. "Forgive me," she said suddenly. "I'm rather tired from everything happening of late." She got to her feet swiftly, and her datapad clattered to the floor. "I'll arrange the meeting, and send you the details," she added as she began to walk toward the door. "But for now, we should both get some rest."

She stood by the door and waited while his brain tried to catch up, though he figured it was hopeless. His entire  _shabla_ body was too warm, both from her proximity and from his stupid, pointless desire. After retrieving the fallen 'pad and setting it on the couch, Crest crossed the room as well. He knew a dismissal when he heard one.

When he reached Sita's side, he gave her as polite a smile as he could manage. "Thank you for everything. It's overwhelming right now, but I think it could be good, too."

He'd spoken to  _Sita,_ but it was  _Queen Hari_ who met his gaze again. "You are most welcome," she said smoothly. "Good night, Crest."

Somehow he found himself on the other side of a closed door, though he didn't remember getting there. Everything was a blur of pale hair and cinnamon skin, and the smell of jasmine filled each breath. "Good night, Sita."

* * *

_Meanwhile..._

He'd meant to tell her, he really had. But the moment Milo had come to Tejaal's quarters, she'd pulled him in for one of those deep, wet kisses, and all but a few things had fled his mind. It wasn't until they were lying naked in her bed, spent and breathless, that he was able to recall just why he'd rushed over right after dinner.

The warm, fuzzy feeling permeating his body turned heavy and cold, and he was hard-pressed to speak. "Tejaal..."

She curled into his side and rested her head on his shoulder while she traced the scar near his shoulder with her nails. "Mmm?"

The light touch sent chills across his skin, and he fought back the desire to kiss her again.  _Come on, soldier,_ he chided himself.  _She has to know._ He took a deep breath. "I'm leaving tomorrow."

Her hand stilled. "Tomorrow? Why?"

"I have to go to Corrie with the others."

Tejaal lifted her head so she could look into his eyes, and his heart sank when he saw her frown. "'Have to?' Are you not a free man?"

Milo nodded. "I am now, but I still have a responsibility to my family. And..." He paused to try and figure out how to voice what he needed to. But the right words didn't come, so he settled on, "I want to go. I think I  _need_  to go."

She studied him a moment, then rested her head back on his chest and snuggled closer, pressing her body tightly to his. "But  _I_  need you here," she whispered, punctuating the words with kisses. "Milo, I..."

 _No_ , he thought, wincing.  _No...please don't say what I think_ –

"I love you," she said.

Milo was silent, though a host of swears rolled through his brain and never had he felt like more of a  _chakaar_ as he did when she frowned up at him. "Milo?"

"You're really, really wonderful," he began, and her breath caught. "But...I don't feel the same way, Tejaal. I'm sorry. I really am."

She blinked once, then sat up and pulled the sheet around her torso. "But you...I mean, I thought..."

His stomach knotted as if with pre-battle jitters, which he hadn't felt in some time.  _Some shiny._ Milo swallowed and sat up as well, and reached for her hand. "I've really enjoyed spending time with you, but–"

"No." She jerked away from him and all but jumped out of bed, and would not meet his eyes. "Don't...don't say anything else. Just go."

Slowly, he rose and reached for his boxers, which had been tossed haphazardly on her nightstand, but he couldn't just throw his clothes on and  _leave,_ not while she was so upset. "Tejaal, I never meant to hurt you. I just..."

A soft sniffing sound rose from her, and he trailed off as regret stabbed his heart. Kriff. He went to her, tried to put his arm around her shoulders, because it wasn't right that she was crying, especially because of  _him,_ but she shook her head and pushed him away.

"Leave," she whispered, hugging the sheet close.

"But–"

Tejaal exhaled sharply and met his eyes, and he wished she hadn't. No one had ever looked at him with such anger, or such sorrow. And it was his doing. "Please go," she said again. " _Now_."

Something caught in his throat and he didn't think he could have said anything else, even if it would have been a good idea, which it wasn't. Instead, Milo gathered his fatigues and slipped out of her bedroom. Outside her door, he dressed in record time, and left in silence.

* * *

_Meanwhile..._

Weave adjusted the resolution on the microscope and held his breath. At first the nanos were motionless and his heart sank. But after a few moments, he spotted the first signs of movement; within two minutes, the tiny droids were moving in orderly, concentric circles.

Just as he'd programmed.

He couldn't help himself and let out a quiet  _whoop_ of joy – and relief. The past few weeks had been a whir of activity, with his attention divided between the RC and the nanodroids, though there wasn't much he could do about the former until injured clones started arriving. The latter, though...

It'd taken a lot of experimenting, but the hard work had paid off. Grinning, he peered through the microscope again and savored the sight of the nanos following the codes he'd input into their circuits. The circular motion was simple, but meant that he'd  _finally_ figured out how to program the kriffing things.

From here, the possibilities were endless.

"It's late. You should be sleeping."

Honi's voice caught him off guard, but not because of its sudden emergence from the doorway to the area he'd co-opted as his lab. It was the softness of it, coupled with the tentative beat of her footsteps as she crossed the room.

Weave steeled himself and turned to face the Jedi Knight. She wore her usual robes, with her cloak resting over her arm. "I needed to run one more test," he said. "I'll sleep in a bit."

Her copper-colored brows knitted as she came to stand beside him, and she surveyed the equipment laid out on the metallic workstation. "How is it coming?"

"See for yourself." He tapped the base of the microscope. As she peered through the aperture, he explained. "I've finally figured out how to program the nanos. Based on the research I've done so far, I think..." He hesitated; voicing this hope was odd and a bit frightening. If he was wrong...

"You think...?" She straightened and met his eyes.

"I think I can do something to slow our rapid aging."

No emotion showed on her face but her voice was curious. "How?"

He reached for the datapad on which he'd compiled his genetic research. It was rudimentary, but coupled with Creon Dai's work and a medic's extensive knowledge of clone bodies, he wasn't flying blind. "The nanos were created to tweak clones' genetic structures  _after_ they're fully grown. From what I can tell, I can program them to adjust the length of the telomeres in our DNA."

"Of course," she said softly. "Telomeres are responsible for the pace of normal, Human aging."

Weave nodded. "It's a long shot, obviously, and I still have a bit of work to do before I can even test the nanos out. But there's hope." He sighed and looked back at the 'pad, without really seeing it. "It feels wrong not to go to Corrie with the rest of my  _vode_ , but I can't leave my work. Besides, I want to make sure the RC is ready for the transfers."

At this, Honi frowned and toyed with the base of the microscope. "I had the same thought. But I have other duties in the Core. It's time to return."

"You've done a lot of good here." He chuckled. "Though, I think Upala won't be sorry to see you leave."

Honi rolled her eyes, but there was a measure of goodwill in her reply. "She's proven herself to be passably competent. I believe your brothers will be in capable hands."

He couldn't help himself. "Wow, that's  _almost_  a compliment."

"Almost."

Neither spoke for a moment, though it was not because there was nothing to say. Rather, finding the way to say it. Weave examined his thoughts to figure out how best to voice them. At last he decided a direct approach was best.

"Honi." She glanced up and his breath caught at the play of lamplight on her freckles and in the neat lines of her bound hair. "I'm sorry for the other day. When I kissed you."

"Weave–"

"Please let me finish." At her nod, he continued. "It was such a shock – Stonewall being back – and I lost control of myself for a minute. I didn't mean to offend you, or cause you any discomfort, and I apologize."

A rosy flush darkened her cheeks, but she did not look away. "You have nothing to apologize for," she said quietly. "I didn't mind. Rather..." Now she exhaled and cast her eyes to the carved panels of the ceiling. "I liked it. More than liked it, actually."

Well,  _shab._ He was not prepared for this response. Anger or annoyance, sure. But...she  _liked_  being kissed by him? Weave swallowed and managed a faint smile, and hoped she couldn't tell how quickly his heart had started to beat. "Well, that's good to hear."

But Honi shook her head. "I liked it a great deal, but you must understand...I am not like Kalinda. I cannot forsake my place in the Order for sentiment. I will not make the same choice she has made, but–"

"I would never ask something of you that you can't give," Weave broke in.

Honi frowned at him and he snapped his jaw shut as she continued. "But I do have something to offer. In the past, I've engaged in...relationships that do not go beyond the sating of physical needs. It's a fairly common arrangement among Jedi. I think there is an attraction between us, and I am open to exploring such a thing, though it cannot go beyond the physical."

Weave stared at her. Was she kriffing serious? "You want to have sex with me, no strings attached?"

Her brows knitted delicately. "Simply put, yes." His shock must have been quite evident, for she added, "I enjoy your company a great deal, Weave, and respect you as well. But my commitment to the Order comes first, as it must. I believe this could be a compromise. Do you understand?"

"I...yes," he managed, though he shook his head. "Honi..."

A slender, cool hand skimmed through his hair, and the suddenness of her touch stole his breath. "Yes?"

Her voice was a whisper, and he could not suppress a shudder at the sensation of her breath on his lips as she leaned close. His body, too, reacted to her nearness, and it was a battle to regain control of himself. But he managed. He took her hand in his to set it at her side and shook his head.

"I want more than that," he said as her lips parted to speak. "From you, at any rate."

"Weave–"

"You've shown me so much," he continued. "You've inspired me to become more than I thought I could, certainly more than I ever thought I  _would._ But my feelings for you are more than gratitude or admiration, and while I'd enjoy the kriff out of it, I don't think I could have sex with you and not get attached. It's just not who I am."

Had it not been for the sorrow in her eyes, she would have been the picture of an ideal Jedi. "Forgive me. I did not mean to offend you."

"I'm not offended," he replied. "Much the opposite. You've always been forthright with me, and I wanted to return the favor." He paused, then reached for her hand once more and squeezed gently. "For what it's worth, it's been a pleasure getting to know you, Honi Tallis. I hope you and Zara find only good things on Coruscant – and everywhere else you travel."

Honi was silent at first, then she met his gaze once more, and he was relieved to see the faint smile on her lips. "You are a fine healer, Weave. But a better man. I am grateful to have had the chance to learn such a thing."

Now it was his turn to flush. "Oh...that's...well..." He sighed. "Thank you."

"Get some rest," she said. "You have a great deal of work ahead of you."

"So do you. Do you mind if I comm you to keep you updated?"

Honi nodded. "I insist on it." She glanced around the room a bit wistfully. "I must admit, I am sorry to leave this place. It has been an honor to work with you and your brothers."

No suitable reply came to Weave's mind, so he fell back on training and saluted her smartly. "It's been an honor for me as well, General Tallis."

The answering smile she gave him was brief, fading into a look of uncertainty. "May I ask one more thing of you?"

His stomach flipped but he nodded. "Sure."

"I would like...one last kiss."

 _Shab_ , his heart had started to race again, echoing the cry of  _yes_ within the rest of his body. His brain warned against it, but he stepped closer to her, and her blush deepened.

"Are you certain that's a good idea?" he asked.

Spots of pink colored her cheeks again, though her voice was measured. "No. But I would still like to."

Perhaps Kali had influenced her former Padawan more than Honi reckoned. Weave knew he shouldn't have given in, but he was not a strong man, sometimes. At least when it came to this woman.

So he smoothed the back of his fingers along her cheek, and kissed the side of her mouth, barely a feather-touch. When he pulled back, her eyes were closed and he could see her racing pulse through her neck.

"May the Force be with you, Honi Tallis," he said quietly.

Her blue eyes opened and met his. "And with you, too."

* * *

_Meanwhile..._

Traxis frowned as he examined the hematite-gray chest-piece. "Are you sure about this, Stonewall?"

Shadowtrooper armor. Special ops gear; whatever this kit was called, it was sweet. It'd been enhanced with all sorts of electronics that outmatched the Phase II gear he wore. The bucket alone was probably something only a few, select guys had even laid eyes on. It sure as fek made his gear look shoddy as all get-out.

"Yeah, I'm sure."

Traxis tapped the carbon-alloy finish of the plate armor, which shielded the wearer not only from the elements but from most lifeform scanners. "Seems kind of a waste."

But Stonewall, it seemed, was resolute in his decision. The former captain scowled at the helmet in his grip before tossing it into the storage crate with a clatter. "It's evil, and I want nothing to do with it any longer."

"Whatever you say."

Trax tossed the chest-piece within the crate as well, and glanced around Stonewall and Kali's quarters. His Jedi- _vod_ was speaking with Altis and a few of the fellows from Sector Nine. The other members of Shadow Squad were scattered: Weave was holed up in his lab – as per usual; Crest was MIA, though Trax thought he'd seen the soon-to-be-former queen trailing him after dinner, which would account for his absence; Milo was with his girlfriend.

So it was just himself and Stonewall, which suited his mood. "Anything else you want to destroy?"

Stonewall shook his head. "We've got everything. Let's go."

Within a few minutes they'd collected a speeder and were traveling through the streets of Rudral. Stonewall had insisted on driving, so Trax was content to study the passers-by and the city itself. They kept a slower pace until they reached the open road, when Stonewall gunned the engines and they sped toward the mountains.

There was probably a lot Trax should have said, but he kept silent at first. There'd been so much talking over the last week; he thought maybe his  _vod_ wouldn't mind a bit of quiet. As for himself, well, he figured it was wise to keep his  _shabla_  mouth shut. It'd gotten him into trouble more times than he could count.

But ultimately he was a  _di'kut,_ who knew better, but couldn't stop himself, anyway. "You don't have to do this, you know. You don't have to prove anything to us."

Stonewall gripped the steering yoke. "I'm not trying to prove anything to you. I just..." He sighed. "I need to do this, Trax. I can't explain. I just..."

"Okay, okay." Traxis lifted his hands. "Whatever you want,  _vod._ I've got your six."

"Thanks." They were quiet a few more minutes, then Stonewall glanced his way. "You don't have to prove anything to me, either."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You don't want to come to Corrie." It was stated so matter-of-factly. Stonewall could have been talking about blaster specs.

Traxis frowned. "And how the kriff do you know that?"

"You know how, Trax."

Right. The effing Force. It gave his  _vod_  one hell of an advantage. Traxis pretended to study the road as it was eaten by the speeder, rushing forward beneath the dark sky. "I'm not letting  _you_ go without someone to watch your six. Fek knows what kind of  _osik_ will happen."

An odd sort of half-smile crossed the former captain's face. "The worst has pretty much happened, _vod._ "

"Don't get complacent," Trax warned him. "I wouldn't put it past any of those fardling Guards to throw you in a cell again. Or Kali," he added deliberately. "That 'Tyranus' bishwag could still send some lackeys after her – or both of you."

Traxis snorted. It was an old argument at this point, but Kali was insistent about her self-appointed mission and would not be dissuaded by anyone, even her recently-returned husband. "Even if she doesn't seem to think that's going to be a problem," he added.

Stonewall's hands tightened over the steering yoke but his voice was quiet. "If that did happen, do you think you could stop it?"

"I'd fekking well try." His stomach knotted and he clenched his jaw. "Even if I didn't do such a great job last time."

"I'm not trying to guilt-trip you."

"Then what the fek are you doing?"

"I'm trying to cut through your  _osik_ and get you to say what's going on in that head of yours."

"Can't your Force tell you?"

Stonewall exhaled, long and slow. "Not in so many words."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Traxis glared at the beam of light stretching in front of the speeder. "Fine. I  _don't_  want to go to Corrie."

Stonewall cast him another glance, and Traxis scowled at the amusement in his  _vod'_ s eyes. "No kidding. Why not?"

Strength and humor and kindness, wrapped in coral skin, tempered with a shadowed past. But there was still a light in those warm brown eyes.

"Got a lot going on here," Traxis replied quickly. Too quickly. He straightened in his seat. "Misfit Squad's coming along, but I'll have my work cut out for me once the new guys arrive."

"Hmm." Stonewall considered, then shook his head. "That's bantha shit."

"Fek you," Traxis muttered. "It's the truth."  _Part of it, anyway._

"I'm not saying it's not a good reason – it is. I just know it's not the only reason."

Traxis rolled his eyes. "Why do you care so fardling much? What does it matter?"

He did not expect his  _vod'_ s chin to drop, nor his voice to quiet the way it did. "Your life – all your lives – have changed so much, because of me. I guess I'm the one who's guilty." He sighed deeply. "I care about you, Trax. And if you're unhappy, I want to change that."

"You can't change it," Traxis said. His effing heart had seized at his brother's words, but thankfully he kept his  _shabla_ voice steady. "No one can. It's fine. Life is fekked up, sometimes."

Stonewall said nothing, but Traxis knew he didn't have to. Kriff, he was going to spill his guts, wasn't he? At last he leaned his head back and shut his eyes. Maybe it would go easier if he didn't have to look at Stonewall. "Did Kali tell you about Ares Tabora?"

"The bounty hunter she hired to fly you to Kamino?" Stonewall sounded thoughtful. "She said only good things about him. He refused payment, so she was able to keep her sabers."

"I kissed him." Traxis let the words hang in the air for a moment, then continued. "We... I mean, there was something there. It wasn't like I just jumped him for no reason. Well, not really." Fek. He did sort of jump Ares, didn't he? Not that Ares had seemed to  _mind,_ but still.

Clearing his throat, he hurried to get the rest of it out, so this ridiculous conversation could be over. "I mean, it wasn't a sweeping romance, but I thought we had...something. Not like you and Kali or anything, but you know... _something_. Even if I didn't have a fardling clue what that meant, or what to do about it. Kali gave me his comm-code, but I haven't heard back. And I figure...well, he doesn't want kriff-all to do with me, and he lives on Corrie – I think, anyway – so I'd rather not risk running into him. Not after making such a kark out of myself."

Stonewall said nothing at first, for which Trax was grateful. When he did, his words were quiet. "Kriff. You really like him."

"It doesn't matter," Trax replied darkly. "He's gone. I doubt he'll think of me ever again, unless it's 'that fekker who punched me for no effing reason.'"

"Punched...?"

Traxis sighed. "I thought he was double-crossing us on Kamino. But the only thing happening was that I was being an asshole."

"You're not an asshole." Stonewall cleared his throat. "Most of the time. The other times, well...at least you own up to it."

"Shut up, Captain."

"I'm not your captain any more," Stonewall pointed out.

Traxis could not help but smile. "Then shut up,  _vod."_

Stonewall chuckled. "Much better."

* * *

About an hour later, Stonewall slowed the speeder to a halt, but didn't get out immediately. Instead, he kept his hands on the steering yoke and stared straight ahead, though his gaze appeared to be far away. Traxis glanced around; they'd stopped in a wide, barren stretch of ground about three klicks from the Temple of Chamunda's Tears.

"Everything all right?" he asked.

Stonewall blinked quickly, as if clearing his head, then nodded. "Help me with the crate."

After unloading the speeder's cargo, the two men made their way toward what Trax at first thought was a big pile of nothing, then he saw the speeder bike. It was an older model, a little rough around the edges, but not a bad ride, considering.

As he and Stonewall plunked down the crate, he shot a careful look at his  _vod._ "You aren't really going to..."

He trailed off at the look in his brother's eyes. What calm there had been earlier had been pushed away, leaving only anger, fear, and regret. Too well did Trax recognize these things, and it was no hardship to keep silent now. Instead, he opened the crate and began to stack the armor atop the vehicle. After a beat, Stonewall glanced around the area and raised his hand; within a moment, a holster and set of pistols flew to his grip as if from nowhere.

Traxis was immediately intrigued. " _Those_ aren't from the GAR, are they?"

Rather than reply, Stonewall handed him the weapons and reached into the crate while Traxis examined the pistols. No, not GAR kit at all. Judging by the muzzle shape, he thought they were manufactured by Aratech, but they were so heavily modded out, it was difficult to say without prying them open to look at the serial numbers. What he could say was that these sleek blasters were incredibly well-made; they were the kinds of weapons that would pack quite a wallop. Far nicer than anything in his own kit, that was certain.

He debated, then decided to break the silence. "These too?"

Stonewall had withdrawn the final item from the crate: a thermal det. At Trax's words, he glanced over and frowned. "Especially those."

"They're Aratech?"

"I don't know, Trax." Stonewall shook his head and tugged on his bucket, which he'd clipped to his belt. "It doesn't matter. Set them on the speeder bike and stand back."

"They're too nice to blow up," Traxis said, frowning.

"Trax–"

"Can't you just...I don't know, put them away for a while? Maybe one day you'll want them again."

Stonewall's armored body tensed, and his gloved hands tightened into fists at his sides. He seemed to force out his next words. "They remind me of all the  _osik_ I did, all the lives I took, and I don't want to look at them any longer."

"But they're really,  _really_ nice blasters. Destroying them is," Traxis scoffed, "well, fek, it's sacrilege."

"I snapped a man's neck to get them, Traxis." Stonewall's voice was flat and his helmet turned away. "They're  _evil_. They don't deserve to exist."

The words sent a chill through Trax's veins. He ran his thumb across the safety of each weapon, ensuring they were set, then put a hand on his former captain's shoulder-bell. "They're just weapons, Stonewall. None of what happened is their fault." He hesitated, then added, "Any more than it is your fault."

"I promised her I'd try to move forward," Stonewall said after a beat. "But..."

He trailed off, and Traxis nodded. "You're keeping that promise. And for what it's worth, that armor is ugly as fek, and it  _should_ be blown to  _haran._ But these blasters..." He couldn't resist another look. Kriff, they were gorgeous. Forget fruity sculptures and other  _osik;_ these were  _real_ works of art. "They're weapons, sure, but they're not evil. And neither are you."

Stonewall was quiet a moment more, then nodded slowly. "Fine. But I don't want them. You like them so much? They're yours now. Just," his voice turned dark, "keep them out of my sight."

"Fine by me." Traxis didn't bother to hide the relief in his voice, and he carefully buckled the holster around his waist while Stonewall adjusted the det.

"Five minutes," the former captain said. "Two hundred yards ought to be far enough."

"Copy that."

They hightailed it to the speeder and retreated to a safe distance. Once they stopped, Trax clambered on the speeder's nose to sit and wait; his  _vod_ joined him after a moment. The night had fallen softly around them. The only sounds were aphrens and the faint whistle of wind through the base of the mountains.

"Traxis."

His brother's voice was still dark, with a harsher edge than had been there before. Best proceed with caution. "Yeah?"

Stonewall pulled off his bucket and met Trax's eyes. "Don't come to Corrie if you don't want to."

"I let you down once before," Traxis said, removing his own helmet. "I can't do it again. I  _won't_."

But Stonewall shook his head. "You've  _never_  let me down, Trax. But it's your life, and you need to live it how you want. Likely, you won't get another shot."

Ares' words from the last time they'd seen each other echoed in Traxis' mind. _"You did what you felt you had to do. You acted how you knew to act. It was the wrong choice, but it was not an easy one, and I find I cannot fault you for it, not when I have made, ah, similar choices."_

"Alright," Traxis said slowly. "I'll stay here." Relief unfurled in his chest; he even felt lighter. "But if something goes sideways, I want you to comm me. Fek it. I want updates every couple of hours – on  _all_ of you. And ask Kali about having a ship set aside for us, because I'll be farkled if I can't get to any of you again."

To his surprise, Stonewall smiled. It was not the broad, beaming sort of smile he'd once given, but it was close. "Now  _you're_  giving orders. Did you get a promotion while I was gone?"

Traxis rolled his eyes. "You don't have the monopoly on being a bossy  _di'kut._ "

Stonewall chuckled, but sat up almost immediately, and shoved his bucket back on. "It's time."

Trax did the same, and together, they watched the flames bloom across the barren ground. Speeder bike and armor were consumed by the explosion, but Traxis wondered if they wouldn't linger in his  _vod's_ mind for some time after.


	49. Chapter Forty-Eight

Lyrics: ["Waiting For My Real Life To Begin," by Colin Hay, from  _Going Somewhere._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m4tcRlHY-3Q&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp&index=49)

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Eight**

_Just let me throw one more dice,_

_I know that I can win._

_Meanwhile, and elsewhere..._

Palpatine boarded the lithe shuttle, but Darth Sidious disembarked. Cloaked in the dark side and in the hissing shadows of the Works district in the bowels of Coruscant, the Sith lord approached his apprentice, who knelt at once.

Tyranus should have already been kneeling.

"What news?" Sidious' voice grated, melding perfectly with the mechanical grind and whirr of the machinery that surrounded the two Sith.

"My lord, the clone operative has ceased all communication." Tyranus paused, and Sidious did not miss the slight waver in his next words. "The tracking nodes in its armor were deactivated on Aruna, and I have been unable to locate the unit."

Sidious was silent for a long moment, regarding the other man who knelt before him. "And you deemed this matter worthy of a meeting?"

Tyranus' head ducked in a quick nod. "This operative knows my name, my lord, though it believes it was given orders by a Jedi. If it has defected to its former Jedi general, who was last seen on Aruna–"

"It is a mere  _clone_ ," Sidious broke in, sneering. "Are you foolish enough to believe that a clone can truly withstand the reconditioning process? How many have been through the procedure?"

"I do not know, my lord. A great many, I believe."

"And how many have returned to their former state?"

Tyranus shook his head slowly. "None, as far as I know. But this one has the Force."

"Indeed," Sidious said. "But otherwise it was no different."

"As you say, my lord," Tyranus replied, ducking his head again. "But if it has made contact with its former general and somehow overcome its reconditioning...the Council could be informed of my involvement..."

He let the words trail off, and Sidious considered. There was no danger of  _his_ identity being discovered, of course, but it would be dangerous to have Dooku's role revealed too soon. Assuming the Jedi Council could piece together  _Dooku_ and  _Tyranus._ Assuming the Council would listen to the testimony of one of its slave-soldiers. Assuming the clone operative hadn't simply been beheaded by a Jedi set on protecting her miserable life.

 _Too many unknowns._ But the main issue was not the clone operative. There was no conceivable way one of the flesh-droids had overridden both the reconditioning and its initial training. No; the clone surely had been killed in an attempt to assassinate the female Jedi. No great loss. Certainly not a surprising one.

The danger lay with the female Jedi. If she had managed to pry the clone's secrets loose, she would be armed with potentially damaging knowledge.

Having so recently avoided disaster with the ARC trooper's discovery of the biochip, Sidious was unwilling to relinquish this matter. The clone trooper known as "Fives" had been gravely injured, but was recovering on Coruscant – another loose end to be tied.

Well, there was at least  _one_  being somewhat capable of dealing with Jedi. Sidious looked at his apprentice, who still knelt at his feet. "Jedi Halcyon and her clone pet have proven your match."

While Dooku seethed at the chiding, he delighted in the eddies of frustration and anger rippling off of the bearded man.  _Perhaps now you will remember your place._ For good measure, he added, "I shall have to take other measures if this situation is to be salvaged."

Without waiting for a response, he turned to leave, though he paused before stepping back onto his shuttle. "Apprentice," he said without looking back. "If you request another meeting for such a trivial matter, you will regret it."

Tyranus' response followed him into the vessel. "Yes, Master."

* * *

_Later..._

_Tchun_ twitched, but Ares schooled the rest of his body to calm and sipped his ale. The denizens of Kala'uun, one of Ryloth's capital cities and the closest spaceport to his sister's home, chatted and drank, and generally paid him no mind. He was one Twi'lek among many. To further quiet his nerves, Ares withdrew a cigarra; within moments he exhaled a stream of smoke that merged with the already murky air of the no-name cantina.

He resisted the urge to glance at his chrono or his sister's comlink, resting in his coat pocket. Time and money were in short supply, but he could show no weakness in case Cad Bane was watching.

Which, hopefully, he was.

Ares took another, deeper drag of the cigarra, eyes closing briefly to better savor the sudden, sweeping calm. When he looked up, Bane stood before him, crimson eyes glowing beneath his wide-brimmed hat.

"Punctual as ever." Ares nodded to the seat across from him, but Bane remained standing, eying him with no small amount of suspicion.

"Consider yourself lucky I was already in the sector when I got your message," Bane muttered. "Now, what's this information you have about my bounty?"

Ares stubbed out his cigarra and pointed to the chair again. "Please, sit. Would you like some ale?"

The Duros sat, but he shook his head. "I want you to tell me what the fek is going on, Tabora."

"I've heard you've recently accepted a rather, ah, profitable job." When Bane only stared at him, Ares elaborated. "Two million credits for the capture of a single Jedi Knight."

"How did  _you_  hear about that?"

Poor Elek had hoped for a peaceful retirement; Ares had almost felt bad about disturbing him for information. Even polite insistence was still obnoxious, or so Elek had indicated.

But that was past. It was time to look ahead. Ares only shrugged in response to Bane's question. "I have my ways. Surely you understand."

"Two million creds is a lot more than 'profitable,'" Bane said after a beat. "But I ain't looking to share."

"Of course not." Both of Ares'  _lekku_ twitched this time, but what other choice did he have? "Jedi are notoriously difficult targets – even for you."

Bane snorted. "I can handle one measly crippled Jedi fem, Tabora. And Aruna ain't that big of a planet."

"But this Jedi has protectors," Ares replied easily. "A squad of clone soldiers who are willing to die for her. Not to mention she has the full backing of the queen of Aruna. Even you can admit the odds of reaching her unscathed are less-than-satisfactory."

Bane made a dismissive motion with his hand. "The bucketheads go down easy enough, and I'm not worried about no soft palace guards." He frowned and leaned forward, crimson eyes boring into Ares' skull. "You have ten seconds to tell me what you're after, tailhead."

Kriff, it was such a long shot. Ares had told himself that the worst that could happen would be Bane's refusal, which would leave him no worse off than he was already. Even so, Ares' stomach flipped and both his  _lekku_ trembled.

But his resolve outmatched everything else.

Even, it seemed, his honor.

"I want my ship back," he said softly. "I want the _Raven."_

"We all want lots of things," Bane snickered. "I want two million more creds in my bank account."

"And I can help you get it – quickly. Two million is quite a sum; I imagine there are some in our line of work who are less, ah, scrupulous than you."

Bane's eyes narrowed. "No one's got the balls to go up against me. No one would fekking dare."

"Not Embo?" Ares asked. "Not that little Fett fellow? Not any of the hundreds of hunters who would salivate at all those zeros attached to your bounty?" He pitched his voice so that it carried its own measure of durasteel. "I've kept my silence about your new job so far, but that could change quite easily. And I doubt your employer would care  _who_ brought the Jedi in, as long as it was done quickly."

Ares waited for a response from the Duros. There was none, so he continued. " _I_  know this Jedi. More than that; she knows  _me_. She  _trusts_ me."

He leaned forward, injecting his own voice with purpose. "If you give me my ship, I'll be able to practically hand her to you, without any difficulty. Then you and I can happily part ways. You'll be two million creds richer, and I'll have my ship."

"You weren't so keen on helping me last time."

Heat prickled through both  _lekku_  and Ares nodded. "Last time, I had the  _Raven_."

The Duros regarded him for a long moment, then shook his head slowly. "What are you gonna do if your precious ship's been sold?"

This was a gamble, to be sure, but it was slightly less of one than his proposal to Bane. He'd checked auctions across the galaxy each day, but no record of a Maka Eekai with the  _Stark Raven's_ code had been registered – or sold.

When Ares smiled, he knew the expression did not reach his eyes. "Has she?"

Surprisingly, Bane told the truth. "Nah." He grinned and leaned back in his chair. "I'm waitin' for the right bidder."

"You've found him." Ares leaned back as well, and withdrew another cigarra from his coat pocket. "Well, Bane? Do we have a deal?"

"One ship for one Jedi?"

"Just so."

Bane considered, then nodded slowly, smirking. "If you cross me, Tabora, you're dead."

"I'd expect nothing less." Ares tried to keep his voice casual. After all, he was getting the better end of the deal, though it was not by much. His honor or his freedom. Sometimes a fellow had to choose.

* * *

A/N: Consider the Sidious/Dooku convo another reminder that we're in AU territory. You'll get more on Fives' condition  **very**  soon, but for now know that in this fic he's alive. [laloga gleefully stomps on canon]


	50. Chapter Forty-Nine

Lyrics:[ "When We Were Younger," by SOJA, on  _Strength To Survive._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=td2Kv4ZbJWs&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp&index=50)

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Nine**

_But when I was younger, when I was younger,_

_I had the answers, I've got to say._

_But all of my answers, now that I'm older._

_Turn into questions, in front of me._

Milo bit back a chuckle at the line of concentration that appeared on Halligan's face as the former Sector Nine guard checked the hyperspace coordinates – again. The  _Theta-_ class shuttle,  _Sahbr'a,_ hummed as if eager to leap from realspace travel; Milo's body echoed that feeling as he tapped one foot along with the radio that played softly in the background.

"You had it right the first time, Hal," he said at last.

Halligan frowned at the shuttle's navicomputer. "I can't help but worry we'll end up  _shebs-_ deep in a star."

"Or a black hole," Ward added with a dark look at the pilot's console before him.

Milo shook his head. "Nah. The nav's smarter than that. The only thing we really need to worry about are comets or other ships, and it's a big galaxy. Accidentally running into stuff hardly ever happens."

Ward and Halligan exchanged dubious looks, but Halligan dutifully punched the coordinates into the nav. "Destination set and locked."

Ward nodded. "Activating hyperdrive in three...two...one..." He eased the control lever forward; the shuttle trembled, the air pressure in the cabin seemed to drop, and Milo sucked in his breath as space shredded outside the viewport. Just like that, they were traveling faster than light. It never got old.

"Good job," he said, nodding between each clone. "By the time we reach Corrie, I bet each of you could add 'shuttle piloting' to your resume. Commander Fox should be pleased."

Both former guards seemed to sit up a bit straighter, and Halligan's voice was pleased despite his stoic expression. "That's good to hear." He exchanged another meaningful glance with Ward and added, "Thank you for your assistance, Milo."

"Yeah," Ward echoed. "Thanks."

"Sure thing,  _vode._ " Milo leaned up and stretched his back, listening for the familiar pop of joints. When he looked back at Ward and Halligan, both men were gaping at him. "Uh...what's wrong?"

"You called us," Halligan frowned over the word, " _vode."_

"Well, yeah," Milo said, shrugging. "You both watched my six. That's what brothers do." He sighed at their confounded expressions. Though they were each older than him, he couldn't help but think,  _Shinies._ "I'm gonna hit the head. You guys have everything under control up here?"

Much to his amusement, Halligan snapped off a pretty sharp salute. Not perfect, but Fox would probably see to that. Assuming Fox took them on. Neither Kali nor Stonewall were in any position to request a  _real_  transfer any longer.

Milo saluted back and slipped out of the cockpit, into the body of the shuttle. This particular  _Theta_ -class had been retrofitted to carry dignitaries and other non-military personnel; in addition to a tiny 'fresher and small common area, there was one cabin in the aft section, where the female members of their party were to sleep. The clones would have to unroll pallets in the common area, but Milo didn't mind.

Stonewall, Crest, Levy and Padawan Karell were gathered around the little table in the common area, playing sabacc. Kali sat on a padded folding chair at the edge of the room, knees curled under her as she dug into what looked like a denta bean pudding ration-cup. As he reached the 'fresher door, she hastily swallowed a large portion of pudding and shook her head.

"Wait, Mi! Honi's in..."

As she spoke, the 'fresher door slid open and Milo was met with a pair of cool blue eyes, framed by hair the color of copper. Honi Tallis was pretty, but knowledge of Weave's interest in the Jedi had dampened any interest Milo might've had. Though...he wasn't sure what was going on between his medic- _vod_ and the Jedi, considering she was here and Weave was still on Aruna.

"Sorry to almost barge in on you, General," he said.

Nodding, she studied his left shoulder with a critical eye. "How is your injury? Are you still experiencing numbness?"

"Yeah, a little." Milo shifted his shoulder; the wound still pulled tight a times and there were still certain numb spots along his arm. Most of the time he wasn't bothered, though he'd not yet tried out his arm in a tense, battle situation. His stomach dropped. Fek; he hadn't even picked up his sniper rifle, had he? Could he still shoot? Could he do  _anything_?

Hoping to conceal his anxiety, he wriggled his fingers and added, "But it's not that bad."

It was no use hiding anything from a Jedi. Tallis frowned. "You're in discomfort. Remove your armor so I can examine you."

From behind Tallis, Kali dropped her spoon in her pudding cup and began to cough. Milo, thankfully, kept his flush at bay and cleared his throat. "Um...you don't have to, General. It's fine. I'm fine."

"You're lying."

"I..." Milo sighed and glanced at Kali, who shook her head.

"Stand down, Honi."

The copper-haired Jedi shot a glare at her former teacher. "Milo is  _my_  patient. I have every right to question him with regards to his physical well-being."

Kalinda quirked an eyebrow. "No one's arguing that. Just let Mi use the 'fresher in peace."

Thankfully, Tallis stepped aside, though it was not without a long-suffering sigh. Milo gave Kali a grateful look and hurried into the 'fresher. When he emerged, he glanced between the doorway to the helm, the sabacc game, and the Jedi, who were speaking quietly at the corner of the common-area. It only took him a moment to make his decision and approach the two women.

"...beebleberries." Kali was saying as she peeled back the lid of another pudding cup. "Honestly, I think I could eat an entire barrel of the kriffing things. Denta bean pudding isn't quite the same, but it'll work for now."

Tallis pursed her lips in thought. "Didn't Dex have a beebleberry frosty treat on his menu? I remember you taking me there several times."

"Oh, sweet stars...yes." Kali's eyes closed as she smiled fondly. "He made it himself. I wonder if he still does... I'll have to stop back by if we have time."

Milo cleared his throat, causing both Jedi to look his way. "Er...may I ask you something?"

Kali smiled and nodded to the empty seat beside her. "Sure, Mi. What's up?"

"Well..." He sat and glanced at the others; his  _vode_ and Zara were all fairly engrossed in their game so this was probably as good a time as any. Still, he lowered his voice. "It's sort of...personal."

"Yes, even if she says she's on contraceptives you need to use protection," Tallis said immediately. "There's no telling what diseases lie beneath the surface."

Kali pressed her palm to her forehead while Milo's face flamed as he shook his head. "Um...okay. Thanks, but I've got that stuff covered."

 _Gah, pun_ not _intended._ Best push on. "But it does relate to...women. Or  _a_ woman, I guess." He took a breath, gathered his thoughts, and continued. "So...I've sort of been spending time with this girl. She's really great, but I realized that I don't...care for her in quite the same way that she cares for me."

"I'm sorry, Mi," Kali said, patting his arm. "That's never easy. Have you told her?"

He winced. "It sorta...came out."

"At the worst possible time?" Kali asked. When Milo nodded, she sighed and leaned back in her chair, toying with her spoon. "How did she react?"

"Not great." Milo rubbed his temple as the memory of Tejaal's anger and sorrow swept through his brain. "I didn't mean to, but I think I really upset her."

"What exactly is your question?" Tallis said coolly.

Milo frowned. "Well...I guess, how can I make it right?"

Kali's voice was gentle. "Mi, if you don't feel as she does, there's really nothing you can do."

 _Shab._ He'd been afraid of that. "But...she was  _really_ upset and I feel awful about being the cause of it. I wish I could change it somehow." He ran a hand through his close-cropped hair. "Maybe I should have just gone along with it all..."

To his surprise, Tallis spoke up. "You were truthful with her?"

"Yeah... Was that wrong?"

The copper-haired Jedi glanced at her hands, folded in her lap. "It wasn't wrong, Milo. If you were truthful with this woman, you have done right by her. Honesty, even at the expense of happiness, is never misplaced."

"Nor is compassion," Kalinda added with a curious look at her former student. "Sometimes being  _too_  blunt can be as harmful as lying." Milo nodded, though he wasn't sure he understood. Perhaps sensing his confusion, Kali gave him a weary, wry smile. "It's a difficult line to walk, even under the best circumstances."

"I didn't want things with Tejaal to end this way," he admitted, toying with the edge of his gauntlet.

Tallis sighed deeply and a distant look came over her face. "Rarely do situations work out as we expect, and even less as we would wish. Especially when the heart is concerned."

"Your perspective will always change," Kalinda said. "So it's important to make the best choices you can, even if later on you realize you made a mistake.  _Especially_ if you make a mistake. If that's the case, then you should learn what you can from the situation and try not to make the mistake again."

That made sense, at least, though he didn't feel any better. How long would Tejaal be angry with him? "I guess being a  _chakaar_ is the only way to learn, sometimes."

The Jedi exchanged looks again, and it was Tallis who said, softly, "Unfortunately."

* * *

After Milo slipped back to the helm, Honi braced herself for the inevitable barrage of questions. But, to her surprise, Kalinda only took another bite of pudding and watched her husband study his sabacc cards. Inwardly, Honi bristled. What was Kalinda waiting for? She'd just let quite a few personal remarks slip free, but the dark-haired woman hardly seemed to notice.

At last, Honi couldn't suffer the silence any longer. "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Aren't you going to ask...?"

Kalinda scraped the sides of her pudding cup, suddenly intent on getting the final bits. "Ask what?"

Honi exhaled sharply. "You know what."

"Honi, my feet are already starting to swell, I'm about to finish my fourth cup of denta bean pudding in an hour, and I'm on my way to face the entire Council and tell them I'm leaving their Order." Kalinda stuck the spoon in her mouth, sucked away the last of the pudding, and added, "Besides, I know better than to ask about your personal life."

"You aren't the least bit curious?"

With a sigh, the dark-haired woman set the empty cup with the others beneath her chair. "Very well. What happened with you and–"

Honi cut her off before she could say  _his_ name; she didn't think Weave's brothers were listening, but there was no knowing for certain. "Nothing," she muttered. "I presented an option; he declined. I left. He remained. It's simple."

"Nothing is simple," Kalinda replied. "What sort of option did you...?" She studied Honi a moment before groaning. "Did you really?"

"We can't all have secret weddings."

Kalinda rolled her eyes, but kept her voice suitably quiet. "Have you ever heard of this thing called 'middle ground?' It doesn't have to be all or nothing, Honi. You can get to know each other, without a lifelong commitment...or whatever sort of  _arrangement_  you proposed."

"You make it sound like something lewd," Honi replied, frowning. "It's purely physical. There should be no stigma associated with two consenting adults doing what they like, provided they are forthright with one another about their intentions."

"Of course not. But there's something to be said for getting to know someone  _beyond_  what revs their engines."

The words struck true and Honi's face warmed; suddenly, smoothing out the hem of her tunic was of the utmost importance. It took her a moment to meet Kalinda's eyes. "That's the problem, you see. I  _do_  want to know him – in every way. But I cannot turn my back on the path I've chosen. Where I stand, there is no middle ground."

Dark eyes seemed to bore into her own, and Honi was reminded of Mace Windu's searching gaze, though after a moment Kalinda sighed and leaned back in her chair. "It's your life," she said, rubbing her knee. "Do with it what you want. But keep in mind that you deserve a little happiness in the midst of all this self-sacrifice."

Odd. She sounded...sad. A light brush with the Force confirmed the fact, and Honi frowned over the notion. "I will be content with my choice," she said to her former teacher. "That is happiness enough."

"I hope so." Kalinda's gaze fell upon the clones and Zara, though, naturally, it shifted to her husband, who sat silently while the others laughed.

Honi, too, looked at her Padawan, and allowed a small smile to slip free when Zara lifted her cards, grinning the way only a Nautolan could. Evidently the girl had a good hand. Her mood seemed to be infectious, at least to Crest and Levy, who were still chuckling.

But the sight of Zara tightened the knots in Honi's stomach, the ones which had increased in quantity and strength since Master Altis had arrived on Aruna. A shiver passed across her skin and she glanced at Kalinda. "Do you think the Council will expel us?"

"You and Zara?"

At Honi's nod, Kalinda's brow creased. "I don't think so. In all likelihood, you'll get a reprimand. Possibly probation. Probably nothing more severe, especially since they need all the Healers they can get."

"And Zara?"

"Maybe just a reprimand. The Council tends to be more lenient with Padawans, especially younger ones, and she didn't do anything egregious." She absently stroked her braid as she considered, then shot Honi a wry look. "I recommend  _not_ accompanying me and Stonewall into the Council, and going in later."

"Why? I thought we'd all go in together."

"They aren't going to be pleased with what I have to say. But that could work in your favor, seeing as you aren't planning on joining the Altisians."

"I suppose." Honi took a few deep breaths to quell the roil within her mind, to no avail. She had never set so much as a toe out of line; this sort of worry was new and most unwelcome.

Perhaps – probably – sensing her discomfort, Kalinda gave Honi a warm look. "It will be okay, Honi. I promise."

Honi frowned. "You're hardly in a position to make promises."

"I meant it in more of a general, comforting sense," Kalinda amended wryly, though her tone turned speculative. "You know, the Council is not infallible or all-knowing. They've all made mistakes, and can understand when others do so, too."

"Abandoning my post and running off to Aruna for two months is more than a 'mistake.'"

Kriff, it was irritating when Kalinda got that smile, the one that indicated she was taking pains  _not_ to show her amusement. After a moment, though, the smile faded and Kalinda nodded slowly, somberly, as a proper Jedi should. "The Council's job is similar to that of a Master to a Padawan, though on a much larger scale. They're meant to offer guidance, and I think in a very broad sense, they do an admirable job."

This was all quite sensible, and Honi found herself nodding along. Then the near-heresy started.

"But some Jedi," Kalinda rested her hands beneath the increasing swell of her stomach, "can't be led down the same paths as others, and the Council doesn't quite know what to do with them. This only leads to frustration – on all sides. I think we must each find our own path."

Sweet Force. If Master Windu were here, surely he'd have an apoplexy. For her own part, Honi didn't bother keeping her skepticism from seeping into her reply. "And if it's the wrong path?"

"Who will be the judge of right or wrong?"

"The Council," Honi replied automatically, and sighed when her former Master got  _that look_ again.

Both women were quiet a few moments, until Kalinda glanced Honi's way. "What do you want to happen with the Council?"

That was...a difficult question. Honi frowned, unsure of her answer. "I haven't considered what I  _want_  from this scenario. Just what could occur."

"But if you could choose...?"

Honi exhaled sharply. "A Jedi's life is not about what she  _wants,_ Kalinda. It is about service. Sacrifice. Duty."

"But it's also about choices," Kalinda replied. "As much as sacrifice or service. More so, maybe, because we must learn ways to balance our humanity with our duty to the Force."

The words were so deeply ingrained, Honi spoke them without thinking. "As vessels for the Force, a Jedi's only loyalty must be  _to_  the Force. It is a symbiotic relationship."

Kalinda's gaze turned to her husband again; Stonewall sat with hunched shoulders and downcast eyes, and did not appear to see the cards in his hand. "Exactly," she said. "We are living beings and we are vessels for the Force. But what's the point of being alive if we can't  _live_?"

* * *

_Later..._

Stonewall stared into the blue veil of hyperspace without seeing it. Memories overlaid the swirling stars: the scent of tibanna, a dull thud on permacrete, a child crying. The bloom of heat and fire in the dark of night. His hands ached as though he'd slammed them against a wall again and again, though of course that was silly. There was no wall. Had there ever been?

A few plucked notes filtered into the cockpit, incongruous enough to draw him out of his reverie and make him turn to the door, where Kali stood, carrying her father's old ion-steel gitar. No;  _his_ gitar. She'd given it to him, Before.

His heart lifted at the sight of her smile, though he felt his mouth pull into a frown. "It's late. You should be sleeping, like the others."

"I'd rather be here."

"Thank you, but you don't need to keep me company," he said as she approached. "You need your rest. I'm fine."

Kali slid into the co-pilot's chair, resting the gitar on her lap as she coaxed a few chords from the instrument's gleaming body. He watched her a moment, then faced forward, content just to listen to the music. After a few moments he recognized the song as one of the first she'd taught him, almost two years ago.

She toyed with the melody a few times, alternating the tempo from fast to slow, adding flourishes to some notes while others she let hang in the air, waiting to fall. At last the song faded into a half-melody, and she spoke as she played.

"The little one must have a sweet tooth, because I had  _six_  cups of denta bean pudding after dinner. At this rate, I'm going to be the size of a ronto before he's born."

Stonewall smiled. "I'd still love you."

Her answering laugh was bright, though the brush against his awareness was soft, gentle. Tentative. His first reaction was to shy away, but he managed to relax and let her in. Kali's Force-presence touched his but only just, and she continued to play.

"You and Traxis got rid of that armor?"

The question was carefully positioned between notes, and she did not look anywhere but her fingers as they danced over the gitar's neck. Still, he hesitated before answering. "Yeah. It's gone. Except Trax thought the blasters were too nice to destroy, so he kept them."

Kali chuckled again. "Why am I not surprised?" She plucked a few more notes; an almost-song. "What about the ship? I didn't get a chance to do more than ask Sita to have it moved to the palace hangar."

Stonewall's gut twisted and he scowled at the steering console. "Blow the effing thing to  _haran,_ for all I care. I don't want to look at it again."

"Where did you get it? Did that," she grimaced, " _Tyranus_ person give it to you, as with the armor?"

A simple question, really. The answer, though, churned his guts and shamed him. "No. I killed its original owners and took it for myself."

To Kali's credit, the music didn't stop, even though he felt the ripples of her unease in the Force. "Do you remember who the owners were? Perhaps they have family who might want it back."

"I never checked," he admitted, frowning. "I imagine it's listed somewhere in the ship's logs." He turned over the idea in his mind, assessing it from all angles, and found it...

"That's a good idea," he said at last. "I'd like to give it back to its rightful owner."

Kali beamed at him. "Then we'll make sure it happens."

Something tight within him eased, and he managed a small smile in return. It was a fleeting feeling, though, as he stared back at hyperspace and thought over his time as a shadow. "It won't help, though," he heard himself say. "It won't make anything right. Not really. None of it can ever be made right."

Even himself. Maybe  _especially_ himself. Stonewall took a shaking breath and squeezed his bare hands into fists hard enough to ache; pain was a welcome distraction.

The music stopped and something warm covered his hand and rested on one cheek. The gitar now occupied the co-pilot's seat and Kali knelt beside him, looking up into his eyes even though he wanted to do nothing more than retreat into himself. She said his name and nothing more.

But it was enough.

"Do you remember Omree?" he asked. At her nod he shook his head. "My first...assignment was to kill him."

True shock – and horror – barreled through Kali's Force-presence, though she reined in the emotions almost at once. But he knew when she was taking pains to be objective. "Did you?"

He sighed. "My orders were changed at the last minute, and I was tasked with killing Tibor – and Omree. Tibor..." He could not meet Kali's eyes and tell her this. "I used the Force to stay hidden, as you taught me. I went to his home on Iktotch and put a blaster bolt through his skull. I had orders to do the same to Omree, but..."

"But?" Her hand was still upon his cheek, but there was no warmth within him now.

"I couldn't. He was just a baby. I think...I think I remembered you, then, but I don't know. I was exhausted from using the Force so much; it's kind of a blur, now."

"Do you know what happened to Omree?"

"I'm not sure," he said. "Tibor had a brother, right?"

Kali nodded, but made no response other than to stroke his skin. The familiar touch eased some of the tightness within his chest, and he was able to fight back the burning in the back of his eyes. Both gave him strength.

Stonewall exhaled. If there would be censure in her eyes, he needed to see it. He needed to face what he'd done. He looked at his wife.

Tears slid down her cheeks and her eyes were bright, and his heart sank. "I wish I could make it right, somehow, Kali."

"It wasn't your fault–"

"No." His jaw tightened as resolve took root in his heart. "I can't do that. I can't shrug off responsibility for my actions. Even if there were other...mitigating factors." Not until he said the words did he realize their weight. Truth was a heavy burden. "I have to find a way to balance out the  _osik_ that I did."

"Okay," she said immediately, swiping at her eyes. "If that's what you want, we'll do it. Whatever it takes."

He glanced down at her. "It might not be pleasant. Or simple."

Kali gave a hollow laugh as she stood upright; the movement was fluid and smooth, and he marveled at how easily such a simple thing now came to her. She hardly limped at all any more. "I love you, Stonewall. Whatever your decision is, I'll support it."

Maybe he was a  _shabla_ fool to feel such relief at her words, but there it was, anyway.

But as he tried to smile, a cold, clammy feeling crept over him, rather like he stood at the entrance to a yawning cavern. He looked back through the viewport. "Kali?"

She still stood beside him. "Stone?"

Kriff. He could hardly give this feeling voice, for that would make it real. "What was the point of me getting the Force, if I would be used for evil?"

Rather than reply, Kali took a deep, shaking breath and, to his surprise, curled into his lap, feet dangling over the armrest, cheek resting on his shoulder. Fek, she was soft. Pregnancy had begun to round her body more than it had ever been, and he could not help but wrap his arms around his wife to savor her warmth.

"I wish I knew," she said against his skin.

A smarter man would have been hungry for answers, but Stonewall was tired, and still fended off nightmares each time he closed his eyes. His wife in his arms helped keep the darkness at bay. If he could smell nothing but her scent the rest of his life, it would be enough.

He inhaled, but spoke into her hair. "I was just a shadow. I forgot I'd ever been anything else."

Kali tilted her head up so their eyes met. "I didn't."

* * *

A/N: Lots of unanswered – and unanswerable? – questions in this chapter. Our intrepid heroes needed a little reflection before reaching Triple Zero and dealing with the Jedi Council.

FYI, there won't be an update next Friday, (August 28th), but Fearless will return on September 4th. :)


	51. Chapter Fifty

A/N: This chapter alludes to stuff from  _Warning Signs,_ namely the fact that Cody is Stonewall's commanding officer. (In addition to Kali.) Don't worry if you forgot...I kinda did, too, until I started writing this and Cody mysteriously made an appearance. But hey, look! It's Cody! :D

Also, this fic is AU in part because I just could not nail down the timeline of TCW events. You'll see what I mean in a minute.

Lyrics: ["Fade Like A Shadow," by KT Tunstall, from  _Tiger Suit_.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yiYx9glnt6M&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp&index=51)

* * *

**Chapter Fifty**

_It's two steps forward,_

_One step back._

_I make up in love,_

_What you think I lack._

Obi-Wan waited at the base of Processional Way. His chrono told him Kali would arrive within moments – assuming she would be punctual – and it should have been an easy task to stand calmly beside Cody, ready to escort his old friend to the High Council Chambers. But very few things these days happened as they  _should_  and calm was hard to come by.

"General, did she indicate if she was bringing a clone escort?"

Surely he'd read the message a dozen times by now, but he could not stop himself from glancing at the display on his comlink:

_Ben,_

_Temple-bound. Should arrive in time for the next Council meeting, assuming they haven't altered their normal schedule. (Doubtful.) In any case, I hope to see you there._

_Take care,_

_-K_

There was a postscript indicating she'd sent a similar, albeit more formal version to Mace and Yoda, requesting an audience with as many Council members as could be in attendance. Beyond that, there was no indication of her plans, nor hint of what she hoped to accomplish with this sudden trip. None of it boded well.

"She didn't say." Obi-Wan tucked his comlink away and squinted through the afternoon light at the line of speeders that skimmed beyond the Temple Court. "However, I imagine at least some of her men will be with her."

Cody allowed a chuckle to slip free. "Running joke in the ranks says they're called Shadow Squad because they stick to their general's side, like...well..."

"They are loyal men," Obi-Wan said. "And I know she values that loyalty. But," he added pointedly, "I imagine they also allow her to travel unescorted, should she explicitly request such a thing."

The commander's voice betrayed nothing, but his Force-presence rippled with determination and, to Obi-Wan's chagrin, anxiety. "To each their own, sir. But in my opinion, if they're decent soldiers, they'll do everything in their power to keep their general safe."

His visor tilted ever-so-slightly in Obi-Wan's direction. Save for a quick briefing to bring Cody up to speed, they'd not discussed Obi-Wan's undercover mission, as it had been deemed classified by the Council. Obi-Wan had done everything as he should; followed procedure, adhered to the Code. But even so, the reality of Cody's agitation stung.

Still facing forward, Obi-Wan said, "They can't protect her from some things, Cody."

"Don't I know it." Cody exhaled, the sound made into static by his mic, then shook his head once. "I don't envy them, though. It's a tough line to walk: protecting your Jedi and knowing when to back off. There are no training sims for striking that sort of balance."

These words, though still calm, were quiet, almost soft, and Cody's Force-presence now blurred between regret and determination. Sighing, Obi-Wan glanced at his clone companion. "Balance is not a skill; it is an art form. Even for a Jedi, it takes a lifetime to learn. So I've heard. I've yet to manage it."

Cody nodded, though his hand lifted to indicate the speeder platform ahead. "Sir. Is that...?"

A feminine, dark-haired figure emerged from an airspeeder, and Obi-Wan's heart lifted even as his stomach knotted with apprehension. Right on time. She really meant business. Kalinda stepped away from the speeder and began to walk toward the Temple's entrance with a smooth, balanced gait. There was no trace of a limp. Confused, Obi-Wan cast out a tentative thread of Force-energy, both as a greeting and a gesture meant to reassure himself that yes, it was really Kali. His inquiry was returned with a gently chiding,  _Of course it's me, Ben._

"Kriffing hell," Cody breathed. "Is that Stonewall?"

Another figure had exited the airspeeder and followed Kali: a clone in full kit, complete with a  _kama_ belted at his waist and a pauldron sheltering his left shoulder. A few strides brought him even with Kali and they walked together toward the Jedi Temple, close but not touching. The Force, however, told a different story as neither clone or Jedi made any attempt to hide the bond they shared; it fairly glittered around them.

A Force-sensitive clone.  _General Kenobi_  should have been annoyed that she'd not reported finding Stonewall sooner, at the very least added a post-postscript to the hasty message he'd received last night.

But  _Ben_  only smiled. "It looks that way."

"I thought he was...dead. He was arrested, then listed as KIA."

"He was arrested, but apparently he's very much alive." Obi-Wan cocked an eyebrow at the commander. "It seems there's much of  _that_ going around, these days."

While no doubt Cody was groaning inwardly, he was too much of a professional to let anyone else hear him. The next moment saw Cody standing a bit straighter, confusion swirling through his Force-presence, though there was also happiness. "I'll bet there's a story there."

Obi-Wan lifted his hand in greeting. "If Kali is involved, there most certainly is."

Kali waved in return, a wide smile on her face despite the circumstances. She wore no Jedi robes, having instead chosen to clad herself in the Arunai fashion of a loose, plum-colored tunic and slender, brown pants, though her boots and belt were clearly of Temple make. As she and Stonewall drew closer, Obi-Wan noted that her pregnancy was not quite visible; only because he knew her so well did he notice the new, faint roundness to her body.

Try as he might, Obi-Wan could not be anything other than happy to see his friend – and her husband. "Stonewall," he said once the clone captain –  _former_ captain, in all likelihood – met them. "It is good to see you alive and well."

Stonewall's visor tilted between Obi-Wan and Cody as he saluted. "It's good to  _be_ alive, sirs."

"Hi, Cody," Kali said, reaching for the commander's hand. "Nice to see you again." She glanced at Obi-Wan, and he detected the agitation in her eyes. "Are you meeting us for business or pleasure?"

"Something of both," he admitted. "I'd hoped to speak with you in private before the fun begins."

"We're not late, but I don't want to push our luck," she said with a glance at Stonewall.

Obi-Wan nodded to the steps. "Fortunately, we can walk and talk at once. We Jedi are marvels, that way."

She chuckled. As she began to head up the stairs, Stonewall took her hand, and Kali cast him a long-suffering look. "I'm not that fat, yet. My balance is perfectly fine."

"Humor me," was the former captain's dry reply. Kali smiled and squeezed his hand, and they ascended together.

Shock and confusion rippled from Cody's direction, but the commander kept silent as they passed beneath the massive statues that lined Processional Way. Once the group reached the Temple proper, Obi-Wan moved to his friend's side; Stonewall, he noticed, slid his grip from Kali's and stepped back to join Cody, and for a little while it could have been any time in the past three years.

"How are you feeling?" Obi-Wan asked. He'd thought about what to say to her; this was the safest opening salvo.

Kali smoothed out her tunic, causing the fabric to shimmer in the sunlight. "Not bad. Had some morning sickness earlier, but now I think it's all just nerves." She shot Obi-Wan a raised brow. "Honi and Zara are onplanet, too, but I advised Honi to come by the Council chambers later on."

Odd, but not wholly unexpected. "I'm glad she's returning. I'm glad you both have returned."

Something like agitation pulsed through Kali's Force-presence, but she only nodded. "How are things, here?"

"How closely have you been following the news?"

"Not as closely as I should," she admitted. "Why? What happened?"

"Ahsoka's gone." Kali sucked in her breath but Obi-Wan hurried to clarify. "She's alive...she's just...left."

"Left...?"

"The Jedi Order."

Kali stared at him, lips parted into a wide "o." With a sigh, Obi-Wan gave her a brief rundown of the debacle, and at the end she shook her head sadly. "Poor Ahsoka. Poor Anakin. That's horrible."

Obi-Wan sighed. "Indeed. That's why I'm glad you've returned."

She faced forward, expressionless. "I'm still pregnant. Still married. None of that has changed, nor will it any time soon. Do you," she dropped her voice, and it trembled, "think I've truly returned? Do you think I really can?"

His heart sank, which was foolish. He knew her too well; he should not have let himself hope. But there was always hope within him. It was one of those things that could never be extinguished. "I had thought..."

Kali shook her head once. "I'm sorry, Ben."

He had nothing to say for a moment. What could he say? He should not have been surprised. But his throat was suddenly tight and he could not help but think,  _Another Jedi, lost._

To distract himself, he tilted his head to indicate Stonewall. "When did you find him?"

"He found me," she said quietly. She sighed and shook her head. "It's a story I'd rather only tell once. Suffice it to say he's been through..." Her jaw clenched and a sudden, dark fury simmered through her Force-presence, though it faded quickly. "He's been through a lot."

"Kali, you must take care," Obi-Wan said as they walked through the Temple's main atrium. "You cannot go before the Council if you are too emotional."

Dark eyes met his. Some of his earliest memories were of those eyes, and sometimes he thought he knew her face better than his own. Within her face now, he saw anger flash like a sun on the edge of going nova. "Don't worry, Ben," she said calmly. "I'm just emotional enough."

* * *

The instant Stonewall left Kali's side and fell in step with his former commanding officer, Cody opened a private comm-channel between them. "Kriffing hell, Stonewall. Last I heard, you were KIA. What the fek is going on?"

Sleep had been hard to come by lately and Stonewall was feeling less-than-deferential. "Nice to see you too, sir."

"You were never much of a joking man," Cody said sharply. "Don't start now."

Stonewall bit back a sigh. Of course, he'd figured he'd have to meet with other command-clones on this trip, and had mentally prepared for seeing Fox again later on, when he would bring Ward and Halligan to the RMB. But Cody's appearance was...unexpected. He quietly wished he'd accepted Mi and Crest's offers to accompany him, but each of his  _vode_ had to attend their own business and the last thing he wanted was to stretch out their time on this world.

But Cody was his CO and friend, and the Force practically sang out his agitation and worry, so Stonewall dialed back his attitude. "It's a long story. The holo-digest version is that I was arrested and sent to Kamino for reconditioning. Kali..." He hesitated here, though it was not because he didn't know what to say.

It was because he could not admit what he'd nearly done to his wife. "Kali found me," he managed. "Eventually."

It was the truth, from a certain point of view.

Shock streaked through Cody's aura like lightning. "You were reconditioned?"

"Yeah."

"But you...seem normal."

Stonewall frowned beneath his bucket. "Thank you, Commander."

Cody exhaled again. "I mean...look, I've met reconditioned men, Stonewall. You're acting like a  _shabuir,_ but you have your wits about you. Though," he added, T-visor tilting down, "you're missing your weapons."

"I thought it wise not to come to this particular meeting armed." Again, it was true enough. Only Trax and Kali knew he would not touch a weapon, and no one – himself included – knew if that would ever change. Right now, he couldn't think much beyond the next couple of hours. Past that...well.

_One day at a time._

"Why'd they recondition you?"

Kriff, the reconditioning was just the start of it. "Another long story," Stonewall admitted. "Let's just say I was...under scrutiny for a variety of reasons."

"Reasons no one bothered to inform your CO of? You may be spec-ops now, but you're still one of my men." Cody's voice was command-cool, but the Force belied his frustration – and hurt.

Yet another person Stonewall's Force-abilities had harmed, albeit indirectly. No matter how much he thought he understood, there was always something else to learn. Would he ever learn all he needed? How much harm would he do in the meantime?

Face burning, he swallowed down a pang of regret. "Kali was aware."

As a Jedi, she outranked Cody, though he wondered if such a thing still applied to Altisians. Cody was silent as they neared the turbolifts at the edge of the atrium. Until, "'Kali?' What happened to 'General Halcyon?'"

These words came easily enough. There was no reason to hide them any longer. "'General Halcyon' is a bit too formal for my wife, sir."

"You're kidding."

Kali's head tilted and her awareness brushed his own.  _Everything okay back there?_

 _One-hundred percent,_ he sent back. To Cody, he said, "I wouldn't joke about this, Commander."

Cody froze as the Jedi approached the 'lift. "Your  _wife_?" When Stonewall nodded, Cody lifted his hand to his helmet, as if he was pinching the bridge of his nose. "Kriff, I knew you had a thing for her, but when did she become 'Kali' and not 'General?'"

 _When, indeed._  Stonewall watched her braid sway as she walked, still in deep discussion with Obi-Wan. "I think it was the moment we met. For me, at least. I was never the same man after that."

This realization settled over him with surprising ease. He was not the same man who'd stepped off Kamino as a newly-graduated cadet, any more than he was the same man who'd played sabacc in the Corrie Guard barracks with his squad. Experience had shaped him, irrevocably. Love had altered his path.

Maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.

For a mercy, Cody didn't scoff at his subordinate's romanticized notions, only shook his head in confusion. "But I thought... The Code..."

"Kali's...taken some liberties with the Code," Stonewall said carefully. "I've...encouraged her."

The commander was silent for a few beats, then, incongruously, let loose a bark of laughter loud enough to crackle over the comm-channel. "Well, that explains why  _you_  have to climb that  _shabla_ tower, too," he said, shaking his head as the Jedi stepped into the 'lift. "I want to hear that story. We'll have to go out for a drink once this is over."

"Sounds good, sir," Stonewall said.

As Stonewall followed the Jedi into the turbolift, Cody gave him a quick nod. "Good luck up there,  _vod_."

"Thanks," Stonewall replied as the door slid closed. "I've a feeling we're going to need it."

* * *

The anteroom outside the Council Chamber was quiet. Kali's boots hardly made a sound against the marble floor, and no one, it seemed, was inclined to speak aloud. Two Temple Guards stood sentinel on either side of the doors, lightsaber pikes held at the ready and masked faces blankly menacing. Kali ignored them and went to stand beside Stone at the room's single window, where he surveyed the city spread far below.

 _Are you ready?_ He did not move, but she felt the warmth of his thoughts as surely as the touch of his hand.

Out of habit, she took a deep breath; despite Obi-Wan's assertions, she  _was_  calm. Focused. Determined. She smiled to herself.  _I think so. Are you?_

 _Not really_.  _But I'll manage._ Faint amusement tinted his thoughts, though there was a deeper undercurrent of anxiety. They'd discussed this meeting at length on the trip to the Core, but there were still so many unknowns.

An inquiring presence touched Kali's awareness a moment before the Chamber door slid open and one of the Guards spoke. "Knight Halcyon. They are ready for you."

"Thank you." She bowed and stepped past them, toward the round room that had been the cause of so much stress in her past. As she crossed the threshold, both guards raised their unlit pikes in an "X," blocking Stonewall's path.

"Your clone must wait here," one of them said.

Stonewall wore his bucket, but she could sense his incredulity. For herself, she only cast a polite smile between each Guard. "No."

Surprise emanated from both guards, though only one spoke. "Excuse me?"

Kali gently moved their pikes aside with the palm of her hand – a real touch, not a Force-push – and motioned for Stonewall to come forward. As he stepped past the Guards, she nodded toward the Council. "They'll want to talk to him, too," she said as the Guards bristled. "Trust me."

Before either could object, she followed her husband into the Council Chamber, and the door slid shut behind her. In here, the silence was more oppressive than in the anteroom, and the air was heavy with the gazes of the Jedi Masters who'd assembled to hear whatever she had to say. Mace, Yoda, Luminara, Plo Koon, Ki-Adi-Mundi... There were a few more holoimages than physical Council members this time, but otherwise, it could have been that day, months ago, when she'd been put on probation.

But Obi-Wan was here; that alone made her heart lighter. She was not on her own, this time, in so many more ways than one. Together, Kali and Stonewall walked to the center of the room, where the afternoon light pooled into molten gold.

She took one more moment to gather her resolve, then glanced between the assembled Masters. "Thank you for meeting with us on such short notice. I know you have many questions, and I hope to address at least some of them. But I would like to ask one question of my own, first, if I may."

She spoke to everyone, but it was Mace whose eyes she met; that dark gaze had been the subject of much agitation in her life. Strange, how much less intimidating he seemed, now. Almost...small.

A bit  _less_  so when he replied. "And that is?"

These were Jedi Masters, the paragons of the Code, and none of them let their emotions slip free of their bonds, but the Force echoed faintly with their curiosity. Kali ensured her voice remained steady. "Have any of you heard of a man named Lord Tyranus?"

The entire world seemed to tense and grow perfectly still.

Obi-Wan frowned and stroked his beard. "If I recall correctly, Jango Fett mentioned a man named 'Tyranus,' when he told me who contracted him for his job as prime clone."

Mace's brows drew together; clearly, he'd not expected Kali to ask a question like this. "Who is this person to you?"

Kali glanced at Stonewall, who removed his bucket and slid into parade-rest. "He claimed to be a Jedi Master, giving me orders on behalf of the Jedi Council."

"Orders?" Obi-Wan looked at Kali. Despite his calm Force-presence, his blue eyes were pale with agitation.

This part, she'd been truly dreading. "About two months ago, Stonewall was arrested and sent to Kamino, which I think you know by now. I think you also know why," she added, glancing at Mace, who nodded once. "He was reconditioned, and began taking orders from a man who called himself 'Tyranus.'"

Mace's voice was flat. "And what did this 'Tyranus' order you to do, Captain?"

Stonewall hesitated, his Force-presence rippling with agitation, so Kali placed a hand on his arm to offer some reassurance. "Assassinations," Stone said quietly. "Mostly Seps, or so I believed. Later, I learned that I'd killed some Republic sympathizers."

"How did you receive the orders?" Plo Koon asked.

"Tyranus only spoke to me through holo once," Stonewall replied. "Generally my orders came via a text-only comlink message."

Luminara's holoimage wavered. "What were the origins of these messages?"

"Unknown," Stonewall replied. "But I was able to verify that he used a Republic encryption code."

Ki-Adi-Mundi shook his head slowly "You did not think to question the veracity of these so-called 'orders?'"

Stonewall was silent, though the Force revealed his shame. He dropped his eyes to the marbled floor while Kali fought back a spike of indignation. "Clones are extensively trained to follow the orders of  _all_ Jedi, without hesitation. Why would he question orders given by someone he believed to be a Jedi Master?"

"The clones are valuable because of their free-thinking abilities," Ki-Adi replied, one pale brow raised. "They are not mindless droids, Knight Halcyon."

His tone was chiding, as if she were an errant Padawan in need of a reprimand, and her hands tightened into fists at her sides.  _Sweet stars, I need to keep it together._ Kali tried to release her anger into the Force, but it was an effort to keep her voice calm.

"Have any of you ever met a clone who has been reconditioned? Their memories are  _erased_. They forget everything they've worked to learn – even their names. They are, to put it plainly, a blank slate." She met Ki-Adi's eyes again. "As far as Stonewall knew, he was serving the Republic."

Silence filled the room until Plo Koon's deep voice broke through the tension. "I thought reconditioning was a permanent procedure," the Kel Dor Jedi said, regarding Stonewall thoughtfully. "Yet you seem mindful of your past...and I still sense the Force within you."

"Yes, sir. The long-neck...the Kaminoan who reconditioned me ensured that I retained use of the Force. As for my memories..." Stonewall glanced at Kali. "I found a way to...preserve them, to a degree, though it took me some time to figure out how."

"He used the Force to shield them," Kali added. She was unable to suppress a swell of pride for what he'd done, and how brave both he and Milo had been. "When we met again, at first he did not recognize me, but eventually we managed to undo some of the damage done by Creon Dai."

The Council was silent for another few minutes, absorbing the story as Kali tried to expand upon it. Stonewall clarified a few points, but was otherwise content to let her speak. She didn't blame him.

When she'd finished the tale, Mace regarded her once more. "Who ordered the captain's arrest in the first place?"

Kali gave him a grim smile. "I was hoping you'd have the answer to that, Master."

His brow lifted. "Until recently, the Council was unaware of his Force-abilities. Rest assured, Captain, our first move would not have been to send you beyond our reach."

"But none of us knew of the captain's Force-sensitivity," Luminara's holoimage said. "How could anyone else?"

The room was silent, though quite a few unsettled looks passed between the Council members. At last, Mace looked at Stonewall again. "How much of your memory from before you were reconditioned have you recovered?"

Stone was quiet a moment, considering his answer. "More memories return each day, sir," her husband said at last. "But I still don't have a...complete picture of how my life was Before."

"Would you recognize this 'Tyranus' if you saw him again?" Obi-Wan asked.

"He wore a cloak and hood. I never saw his face, so I don't know if he was someone I'd encountered before I was reconditioned. He had a...distinct voice, though. Refined. Actually...his accent sort of reminded me of yours, General Kenobi."

Kali had to bite back a chuckle at Obi-Wan's incredulous expression, though of course it was fleeting. "Do you think you would recognize his voice?" Obi-Wan asked.

Another pause, during which the Force coiled about Stonewall's armored form, pulsing with his agitation and shaded by shame. "I will never forget the sound. For all I might wish to."

Nodding, Mace glanced at Kali again, and she knew the  _osik_ was about to hit the proverbial fan. "We will investigate this matter. In the meantime, you will both remain here. Captain, we must learn the extent of your abilities. As for you, Knight Halcyon, you have flaunted both the Code and the authority of the Jedi Council. Your actions prove that you have no respect for your peers, or the soldiers who served under your command."

He paused, and was it her imagination, or did his eyes get darker and more ominous? "We have no recourse other than to expel you from the Jedi Order."

The words fell over her like hail; they stung, but the pain was short-lived. Kali nodded once. "I understand how you feel," she said carefully. "I know what it's like to be put into a difficult position, where your only option is to take extreme action. For what it's worth, I'm sorry I've brought us all to this point. And," she added with a look around the room, "I know I've chosen the worst possible time to return here and say what I'm about to. But I also feel I have no other choice."

"What are you talking about, Kalinda?" Luminara asked.

Kali took a shaking breath; this time, it was Stonewall who touched her elbow once, gently, offering his own kind of comfort. Within her, their son's Force-presence brightened as well, as if he was aware, on some level, of his mother's anxiety. No, she was not alone. Kali stood a little straighter. "I asked to meet with the Council for two reasons: to discuss the person known as 'Tyranus,' and to tell you I've accepted a place within the Altisian Jedi."

" _We've_  accepted," Stonewall said quietly.

Kali glanced at him, startled. "Have  _we_?"

Uncertainty still resonated in his Force-presence, but there was a new resolve he must have come across very recently. "For the most part."

Mace's voice pulled her attention back. "The Altisians?"

If she hadn't known any better, she would have thought he was truly shocked. Indeed, varying degrees of surprise emanated from the other Jedi in attendance, save Obi-Wan, who sank back in his chair and closed his eyes briefly.

She nodded. "You were right about me, Mace. I have always struggled with my attachments, but I've come to think that the problem is not that I have attachments. I think the problem is thinking there has to  _be_ a struggle in the first place. But I realized that I can't flaunt your Code and still consider myself among your number, so I sought out Master Altis–"

Mace cut her off mid-sentence. "You're throwing away a lifetime of training so you can have a romantic relationship?"

Her face warmed, so she took a deep breath to bolster her calm. "I don't want to turn my back on anyone, but I also don't want to be afraid of who I am any longer. What value is there in pretending to be someone I'm not, to fit into a role that has been forced on me? I never asked to become a Jedi. I was never given a choice."

Silence filled every space of the Chamber, as stifling as a summer's day on Balasi. Mace Windu sat perfectly still, such that he might've been carved from stone. "You don't want to be a Jedi."

"Mace, I love being a Jedi. But I finally understand that I can't be the one you want me to be." Heat pricked her eyes and she had to fight to keep her voice steady. "I'm sorry."

Despite her efforts, the words emerged as a whisper. Dark eyes met hers, but her former Master said nothing; the rest of the Council was similarly silent. Of them all, only Obi-Wan's emotions were clear to her, though she wished it were otherwise. But he, like his peers, said nothing.

Kali cast her mind to Stonewall.  _I'm really hoping that silence is our cue to bang out._

 _Lead the way,_ he sent back at once.  _I've got your six._ She could not help the faint smile that curled the edges of her mouth.

As she was about to step for the door, Yoda spoke. "Contacted Altis, you did?"

"Yes, Master," Kali said, folding her hands before her. Apparently the session was not quite over. "As a matter-of-fact, he specifically asked me to make sure you knew he did  _not_  approach me first. He's not out to poach anyone."

"If you join the Altisians," Yoda said quietly, "no longer a Jedi will you be."

Ice swept through Kali's veins. "The Altisians are a sect of the Order."

But Yoda only shook his head once, his eyes distant even as they were fixed upon her. "Adhere to the Code, they do not. True Jedi, they are not."

Despite her words to Honi on their journey here, despite her new-found convictions, despite her husband's stalwart presence, her stomach twisted at his words and for a moment she was dumbstruck.

So she was caught by surprise when Stonewall's baritone echoed through the room. "With respect, Generals, there is no finer Jedi than Kalinda Halcyon. She has gone above and beyond her duty to the men under her command, to me, and to the Force itself."

Mace's jaw tightened. "You were not given leave to speak, Captain."

Somehow, her husband stood straighter beneath the Jedi Master's sharp glare. "I'm not a 'captain,' any longer, sir. Nor am I a Jedi, or even in the GAR. I am outside of your authority, but Kali is not, and she still chose to come back here and try to make peace with you – despite the grief you've caused her. Despite the fact that staying away would have been wiser–"

"Arguably," Kali interjected.

Stonewall glanced her way, brow lifted, though he only nodded and continued. "She has followed her own path, and still managed to do good work, work that is worthy of any Jedi. Right now, hundreds of injured clones are being given a second chance at life, thanks to Kali's efforts on Aruna."

"You are referring to the rehabilitation centers?" Luminara asked. "Admirable, indeed, but would you have done so, Knight Halcyon, had Captain Stonewall not been sent away?"

"I can't answer that question, Master," Kali said. "But I stand by my actions. If I had to do it all again, I would."

Yoda shook his head slowly, and looked away from her. "Learned nothing, you have."

Kriff, she should have just taken this as a dismissal and walked out of the room, never to look back. But something in the wizened Jedi Master's words stirred anger in her heart. "Whether or not you like it, Master, I am a vessel for the Force. I  _am_  a Jedi. That has not changed, nor will it ever.

"But I also love my husband, and I believe it was through that love that I came to understand the plight of his brothers. Of the millions of men who are fighting this war for us, most have no options other than to fight or to die. What sort of Code do we live by if we allow this to continue?"

As she spoke, she glanced around the room, meeting each Council member's eyes, and the anger in her heart brightened. No, it was not peace, but passion. And she did not feel the pull of the dark side.

"Thank you for listening to me," Kali said, bowing again to the space between Mace and Yoda. "Thank you for everything you've given me – all the time and training. It may not seem like it, but I truly respect each one of you. But I have to do what's right for me and for my family. The Altisians do good work, and I will be proud to be among them."

Now it was time. She did not have to signal to Stonewall; he knew. They stepped toward the door together, pausing only when Plo Koon's voice reached them.

"Your family?"

Turning, Kali rested one hand on her stomach. "Yes. I'm almost fifteen weeks along."

True shock shivered through the Force, but it was strongest from only one source. Mace Windu stared at her, eyes wide and lips slightly parted, which was his way when he was at a loss. She'd only seen the expression twice before. Strange; had he not assessed her pregnancy through the Force? Had any of them?

Perhaps her and Stone's son was too small to be noticed. Perhaps they didn't know what they saw when they peered within her. It didn't really matter any longer.

Because it felt like the right thing to do, Kali bowed again. "You all have my contact information. Please keep me informed of the investigation into Tyranus. May the Force be with you."

The door slid open before her, and within three steps she and Stonewall were outside of the Council Chamber, making their way to the turbolift. They ignored the Guards and were treated similarly.

Only when they were in the 'lift did Stonewall exhale and give her a worried look. " _Shab._ That went..."

"About as well as I expected," she sighed, rubbing her temple. As he reached for the control panel, she shook her head. "Not the main level; the Archives. I need to say goodbye to a few people."

Nodding, Stonewall entered the code, then glanced her way once the 'lift began to move. "How long will that take? I still need to bring our dynamic duo to the Corrie Guard."

He didn't say, but she knew how badly he wanted this trip to be over. Even had his desire not been written in the Force, it was clear in the slump of his shoulders and the shadows beneath his eyes. "Hopefully not too long," she replied. "But I also need to stop by my old quarters. I have some things there I'd like to take. I can make it quick–"

"No, it's all right," he said, shaking his head. "Say your goodbyes and get your stuff. I'll drop Ward and Halligan off with Fox and meet you after."

"Are you sure?"

They'd not been apart since his return. Granted, only a handful of days had passed, but his wounds were still raw, and of course, they both remembered the  _last_ time they'd split up on Corrie.

But Stonewall took a deep breath, and his voice was steadier now. "Yeah. It'll be fine; there's nothing any of them can do to me, any longer." He shot her a wry look that was a little too casual. "I'm a dead man, remember?"

"Don't even joke about that," she said with a frown.

Her husband sighed again and faced the 'lift control panel. "Did they kick you out, or did you leave?"

Kali gave a weak chuckle. "A little of both, I think." Suddenly she was exhausted, and needed to be in his arms, cold, hard armor be damned. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek to his chestplate. "You were magnificent in there."

He hugged her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. "So were you."


	52. Chapter Fifty-One

A/N: This chapter references events that occurred in chapter three ("CETOC") of the vignette collection,  _The Misadventures of Shadow Squad._

Lyrics: ["Learning To Fly," by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, from Into the Great Wide Open.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s5BJXwNeKsQ&index=52&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp)

* * *

**Chapter Fifty-One**

_Well some say life will beat you down,_

_Break your heart, steal your crown._

_So I've started out for god knows where,_

_I guess I'll know when I get there._

_Meanwhile..._

The whole thing was downright surreal. Fully kitted up, Milo stood beside Levy at the entrance to the Republic Military Base, while a clone sergeant passed a scanner over Lev's upturned wrist.

"His number checks out," the sergeant said, frowning at his datapad. "But it says here he was sent to Timira City for processing. What happened?"

"Dunno, sir." Milo shrugged. "Long-necks changed their minds, I guess." Levy shifted in place, but otherwise held still while the officer continued to peruse his file, though even the small movement was an indication of his nerves. Poor kid.

But Lev was still a soldier, and even his time in The Dregs and on Aruna had not erased his training; he stood at attention and said nothing, allowing the two older clones to speak.

To help reassure the  _ad'ika,_ Milo caught Levy's eye and pitched his voice to be friendly. "Do you think there will be an issue with taking him back, sir?"

The sergeant lowered his 'pad and regarded the young clone, who stood even straighter beneath the scrutiny. "You look fit enough to me. Why were you sent away?"

Levy's cheeks colored, but before he could answer, Milo cleared his throat. "Sir, from what I understand, Scientist Dai was fond of...pulling clones out of training to use in his, er, special projects."

He let the words hang ominously in the air. Levy was fine; there was no need to dredge up memories of whatever had affected him in that training sim. Besides, he'd worked through it on his own. Everyone deserved a second chance.

The mention of the long-necks and  _projects_  did the trick, as the sergeant winced and looked at Levy with new eyes. "You're okay, though? No...defects I should know of?"

"No, sir." Levy's voice was clear.

"Good." The sergeant made a notation on the 'pad and glanced at Milo. "We'll take him from here. The vacancy in his original squad was never filled, so we'll just slip him back in."

Milo grinned behind his bucket. "Thank you, Sergeant...?"

"Bevin," the officer replied. "Rhymes with 'seven.' Go on, kid," he said to Levy, nodding toward the entrance to the RMB. "Your brothers should be in the mess hall now. Third level down. Full of chatter. You can't miss it."

But Levy didn't move. Instead, he looked back at Milo, who read the hesitation within him and removed his bucket to better speak to the younger clone. "It's all right, Lev," Milo said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "We'll see each other again."

"When?"

Milo gave as encouraging a smile as he could muster. Kriff, he was going to miss this kid. "I don't know,  _vod._ But I do know this isn't 'goodbye.' It's more like,  _k'oyacyi._ Okay?"

Nodding, Levy smiled faintly, and, to Milo's amusement, shot him a reg-perfect salute. " _K'oyacyi_ , Milo."

With that, he turned and trotted inside the massive structure, and disappeared from Milo's sight.

"Koy-ah-shee?" Sergeant Bevin frowned over the word. "What the fek's that mean?"

"It's Mando'a, sir. Means something between, 'stay safe,' and 'see you later.'"

The sergeant regarded him a moment with narrowed eyes. "On whose orders did you bring him here, again?"

 _Fek_. Milo ensured his posture was ramrod straight. Okay, so he wasn't  _technically_ in the army and Kali  _technically_ wasn't a "proper" Jedi any longer, but she'd filled out the necessary flimsi-work to authorize Levy's transfer back here. Besides, Levy was  _supposed_ to be with his brothers. Would the other clones really turn him away?

"I asked you a question, trooper."

 _Shab, shab, shab._ It would be suspicious if he shoved his bucket back on now, so Milo forced himself to meet Sergeant Bevin's eyes. "General Halcyon requested Levy's transfer, sir."

"Halcyon?" The other clone sneered. "Dead Jedi don't sign transfer orders, grunt."

 _Jerk_. "Not Neeja, sir,  _Kalinda_  Halcyon. They're not related."

"Hmm. Never heard of her."

Milo allowed a smile to creep to his face. "I'm sorry to hear that, Sergeant."

The sergeant rolled his eyes and made a dismissive motion. "Well, it's good the kid's back, at any rate. One less clone out of the long-necks' clutches."

Ugh, the fellow didn't know the half of it. Milo fought back a shudder at the thought of The Dregs and kept his voice calm. "Always a good thing, sir."

Bevin swept his gaze over Milo's armored form. "You'd best be returning to your post."

He didn't have to say it twice. Milo saluted smartly and made his way across the permacrete platform before the RMB, quick, but not  _too_ quick, so he wouldn't draw unwanted attention. Really, it was lucky as kriff that no one had questioned him when he'd brought Lev, but the unmarked kit tended not to elicit much more than a cursory glance. Here, Milo was one clone among many, indistinguishable from every other soldier in white armor – and there were a fair few.

But he wasn't like them, any more, was he?

He reached the end of the pedwalk, but hesitated before mounting the rented speeder bike that he'd driven from the hangar. Dropping Levy off hadn't taken as long as he'd anticipated; Crest, Stonewall and Kali were probably still engrossed in their own business, and he had no desire to return to the  _Sahbr'a,_ where Ward and Hal waited. There was no telling where General Tallis and her Padawan were, either.

The whole city-planet was spread out beneath his boots, and suddenly, he was restless. Had he ever just poked around Corrie for fun? Maybe he could just ride around for a little while, to clear his head. Maybe he could stop for a cup of caf and people-watch. Maybe he could just rev the engine and see where the universe took him. The possibilities were endless.

No clear destination in mind, Milo activated the speeder bike and eased into the nearest lane of traffic. Within moments he was skimming along with the countless other vehicles, alternately watching where he was headed and the way the fading, afternoon light glinted off the spacescrapers. Coruscant stretched far, far below, and something tugged at his mind, urged him to descend.

As he eased the bike down, his arm tingled as if in warning, a reminder that he was  _still_ not one-hundred percent, but he managed to tamp down his hesitation. He had his rifle and a few other weapons that Trax had insisted on sending; he could still  _shoot,_ for kriff's sake.

Right?

It was darker down toward the Undercity. Even through his bucket, the air smelled stale and tepid, and he began to have second, third, and fourth thoughts. But still he descended, drawn by the pull of the unknown.

He passed beside a row of sagging apartment buildings when movement caught his eye. No other drivers were in the area, so he slowed the bike and blinked into his HUD to draw up a closer view of the alley between buildings. He saw nothing at first, then...

A full-grown anooba lay on its side, tufted ears flopped over as it panted heavily. Weird. The very  _last_ thing he'd expected to see down here was an anooba. He'd heard of an illegal trade in exotic critters like this, but had never had reason to investigate. As he drew closer, he caught sight of a pool of crimson spreading below the anooba's body, staining the permacrete, and judging by the poor creature's irregular breathing, he or she was not in a good way.

 _Ah, kriff._  Milo eased the speeder bike toward the pedwalk, parked it, and dismounted, though he moved carefully. Injured animals could be pretty dangerous. That thought in mind, he grabbed his rifle and made his way to the panting anooba.

The row of bristly fur along its spine was flat and dull, and its tongue lolled from the side of its mouth, between the curving tusks at its upper and lower jaw. Even at a distance and through the air-scrubbers in his kit, he could smell infection. As Milo drew closer, the creature's glazed eyes fell on him and it made a stuttered growl, but it was halfhearted at best. When Milo caught sight of the ugly wound on its side, his stomach twisted and his throat felt dry as Tatooine. Maybe if he'd come across the creature a few days ago, he could have done something, but...

As he was debating how to proceed, something whimpered. Not the anooba lying before him, but another... He knelt, slowly, and spotted a smaller pair of eyes peering at him from behind the anooba's rear haunches. Kriff, was it a pup?

The adult anooba growled again, but the sound was fainter than before, and its eyes were closed. Poor thing was trying to protect her baby even now. Milo pitched his voice to be gentle. "Hey, there little guy. Or girl. It's okay, I'm not gonna hurt you..."

He kept both hands spread, held below shoulder-level, to show he wasn't a threat, but the pup whimpered and scrambled back a few paces on big, floppy paws, clearly torn between fleeing the unknown Human and staying near his or her parent.  _Shab._ Milo tried to ignore the pang in his heart at the pup's dilemma, and sat back on his heels.

He had two options: try to help, somehow, though he risked injury should the adult manage to attack; or leave the creatures to their fate, which, given the pup's small size, would probably be death for them both.

Footsteps echoed behind him, breaking him out of his dark thoughts and spurring him into action. Quick, heavy tread like that meant running, and anyone who went running down a dark alley in Corrie's underbelly was probably up to no good. In one fluid movement ingrained from years of training, Milo grabbed his rifle and planted himself between the anoobas and whoever was barreling their way. His shoulder twinged but it wasn't bad, and his hands were steady as he gripped the trigger.

A Rodian female darted his way; when she caught sight of the clone trooper, she skidded to a halt, and, swearing, tried to turn. At the alley's other end, a shadowy figure appeared and a female voice called out, "Stop her!"

Milo reacted immediately. He shouldered his rifle and lunged forward, grabbing the Rodian around her shoulders to pin her to the wall, using his body as leverage while he held her in place.

"Let me the fek go!" she snarled.

"Don't you  _dare_ let her go," the other female called. A Togruta met him a moment later; her face was shadowed by the alley, though judging from her silhouette she was fully grown and taller than he was with her montrals.

The Rodian continued to struggle. She was strong for her species, but he stood firm and glanced at the Togruta. "Who is she? And who are  _you_? Why are you chasing her?"

" _She's_  wanted in seven systems," the Togruta snapped, "and  _I'm_  the Antarian Ranger hunting her."

As she spoke, she tugged her brown, nerf-leather jacket aside. Sewed to the interior was a patch with swirling vines twined around the traditional Jedi Order insignia of a star within a pair of wings. She then withdrew a pair of energy cuffs and wrenched the Rodian's wrists around to bind her. The Rodian let loose a few more expletives, but Milo hardly heard. He was too busy wracking his brain to think of where he'd heard the term  _Antarian Ranger_ before.

"Hey, watch it, hornhead! Those are my shoulder blades!"

The Togruta's reply was a low growl. "Maybe you should've kriffing thought of that before you hijacked that Star Destroyer."

With the Rodian safely bound, Milo stood back as the Togruta subdued her prisoner. The Rodian was strong, but so was her captor. With her montrals curving upward, the Ranger was at least a whole helmet taller than Milo, and even in the shadows and beneath her sturdy clothes, he could see she was muscular. From this angle, light filtering in from the alley's entrance caught on her skin, which was a deep shade of plum. Jagged white marks were haphazardly slashed across her face,  _lekku_  and montrals, giving her a more feral appearance than other Togruta he'd seen before.

The look was heightened by her scowl. "What the fek is a clone doing down here, anyway?"

Milo thumbed the direction of the anooba. "Caught sight of this little guy and its mom just before you showed up, ma'am."

The Ranger tracked his gesture with eyes that gleamed even in the low light. "The bitch is a lost cause," she said, turning away to urge her prisoner forward. "So's the pup. They'd be better off with a blaster bolt through their skulls."

Ice swept through Milo at her sharp words, but it was the Rodian who replied. "Fekking hell! That's ruthless _._ "

"Save it for someone who gives a kriff," the Togruta replied. "And you," she added, glancing Milo's way. "Don't call me 'ma'am.'"

"Well, what's your name?" he asked.

But she did not answer.

Once the Ranger had dragged off her prey, Milo turned back to the anoobas. The female still panted, though slower and more intermittent, and he knew it was just a matter of time. The pup had moved to behind its mother's head, whimpering and nuzzling one of the sagging, tufted ears. At Milo's approach, it whined and scrambled back, then, to his amusement, planted its paws and faced him, growling, a ridge of downy fur sticking up along its spine.

But his amusement was short lived. The Ranger was right about one thing: the mother anooba was not long for this world. It would be kinder to kill her quickly than let her suffer a moment more.

With a heavy heart, Milo withdrew his rifle and removed his bucket to see better. In response, the pup growled again, small and high-pitched, and darted a few steps away from its mother, though it did not flee altogether. Milo knelt a few paces away from the adult anooba, careful to keep the pup far away from the line of fire.

" _Udesii,_ girl," he murmured as he sighted up. "Easy, now. It'll be okay. I promise."

One squeeze of the trigger, and it was done. Trax had made some mods to his rifle, so the shot made no sound, and for a few moments, even Corrie was silent. The notion crossed Milo's mind that he should say remembrance, but of course that was probably some silly notion only a  _di'kut_ would have. The anooba had no name, not that he knew, anyway.

He sighed and slid the strap of his rifle over his shoulder, which twinged with the motion. Pain needled through his left hand but he was used to the feeling, and flexed his fingers a few times to ease the sting.

Movement out of the corner of his eye made him turn, and his heart sank further at the sight of the pup nosing its mother's body. The Ranger was probably right about it, too. It was too small to survive without a parent; Milo was no expert, but he estimated the pup to be about six weeks old. From this angle, he could see the pup was a male. It was tiny, compared to the adult. Milo thought he could fit comfortably in the crook of his arm if he picked him up.

"Hey, there," he said softly, kneeling down again. "I'm sorry about what I did, but your mom was really hurting."

The pup growled at him again, but it was more of a squeak than anything else.  _Poor little fella._

In the end, the decision wasn't really a decision at all, but simply the right thing to do. Carefully, Milo scooped up the pup and hugged it to his chest, and hurried out of the alley.

* * *

_Meanwhile..._

Crest had never seen a protocol droid quite so  _shiny._ And gold. Sunlight streamed in through Senator Amidala's apartment's veranda and reflected off of the tinny, nearly blinding Crest as it presented a tray of drinks.

"Here you are, sir."

"Uh...thanks." Crest reached for a crystalline goblet filled with some sort of pale, pink liquid. A careful sip revealed it was something fruity and non-alcoholic, and while he understood how that was probably more acceptable, he  _really_ could've used a nice ale, or maybe a shot of whiskey. Or three.

Senator Amidala took a glass as well and smiled at the clanker. "Thank you, Threepio. That will be all for now." Once the droid tottered off, the Nubian senator turned her smile to Crest. "Thank you for meeting us on such short notice."

"Indeed," Senator Mothma added. "Especially given how...volatile situations with the GAR can be." The Chandrilan senator sat on a padded chair, across from Crest and Senator Amidala. Up until about fives minutes ago, he'd only seen Senator Mothma on the HoloNews, but he resolved not to ask about the recent pic-related scandal. It was probably all made-up, anyway.

"Technically, ma'am, I'm a citizen of Aruna," Crest said. "There isn't much the GAR can do to me any longer."

Bail Organa, the senator from Alderaan who sat on a sofa beside Mothma, raised his glass. "I am glad to hear that."

"As we are, too." Through the filter of her breathing-mask and vocoder, the Gand's Basic was heavily accented and rasping, but Yxias' motions were graceful as she inclined her spherical head. "We are so very grateful you have taken the time to meet with us, Trooper Crest," she added, her huge, multi-faceted eyes glittering in the afternoon light.

Admittedly, Crest had internally balked upon first seeing the insectoid, as his first thought was of Geonosians, but Yxias seemed decent enough. Odd, though. He glanced around. "'We?' Are there more of you here, ma'am?"

The Gand regarded him a moment, then ducked her head. "We humbly beg your forgiveness, Trooper Crest. This one only," she placed a three-fingered hand to her chest, "is expressing gratitude, though poorly, it seems."

"Yxias is modest," Amidala added pointedly. "A shining example to all of the Gand people."

"And a representative of CETOC," Organa said with a knowing look at Crest.

"CETOC?" Crest nearly laughed aloud, though he was able to snap his mouth shut. "The Citizens for the Ethical Treatment of Clones?"

"The same." Mothma regarded him. "You have encountered them before?"

Had he ever. Crest bit back a  _shabla_ grin at the memory of pretty fems draping themselves all over him – and his squad – while they waited for the general to attend some conference. "They were working for clone rights, I think."

"You are correct, Trooper Crest." Yxias cast her eyes down, but her voice took up strength. "The dedication of the great clone army is admirable, and it is this Gand's opinion that all clones should be given Republic citizenship."

"As it turns out, this is an opinion that many Republic citizens share," Amidala said. "The rehabilitation centers on Naboo have received a massive influx of private donations."

Organa nodded. "It's the same on Alderaan. Clone rights have become a hot topic of discussion." He gave Crest a wry smile. "I don't know how many times I've watched your press conference."

Crest winced and looked into the rosy depths of his drink. "Ah, that old thing, sir?"

"Trooper Crest has proven to this Gand that the clones can rise above their origins and forge their own identities," Yxias said, sitting up, eyes flashing with excitement. "Many Gand share this belief. CETOC provided this lowly Gand the means to help a worthy cause."

"Yxias is an esteemed dignitary from her homeworld," Amidala explained. "Through her efforts, CETOC has become so much more than a fringe activism group."

"They now have, as my wife would say, political  _oomph_ ," Organa said.

"And financial," Mothma added, sipping her drink. "Which, in these times, is no mean feat."

The Nubian senator nodded. "Already, there is talk of pushing for clone citizenship, veteran programs once the Wars are over, and the expansion of the rehabilitation centers to other worlds."

Crest took a swig of his own drink, though it was really more of a stall tactic, because what the  _shab_ did any of these influential-types need  _him_  for?

Before he could find a polite way to phrase the question, Amidala exchanged a meaningful look with the others, then regarded him. "The one thing CETOC is missing is a clone voice. A...representative of all clones, someone who can meet with different groups and take part in these dialogs, and keep your brothers' best interests at the forefront."

"It would be best if this person was already familiar to the galaxy, on some level," Organa added.

A strange, numb feeling took hold of Crest's body, and his ears began to ring. Both reminded him of being too close to an exploding det, and he blinked a few times to clear his head. "Uh..."

"Would Trooper Crest be willing to lend his voice to this worthy cause?" Yxias asked.

Still disoriented, he shook his head. "My voice is the same as any clone's. As is my face. Any of us could do this."

"This lowly Gand begs Trooper Crest's forgiveness," Yxias said, lowering her eyes. "But Trooper Crest has already gained the attention of the galaxy. Such a thing is difficult, even in the best of circumstances."

"We are not asking for an answer now," Amidala interjected gently. "We do not anticipate calling on you for this duty for several months, at least, as there are still many details to be worked out. However, Sita mentioned you were coming here, and we thought it prudent to speak to you while you were onplanet."

"This idea is still somewhat nebulous," Mothma added. "But hopefully that will change before too long."

Organa smiled. "None of us can know what it's like to be a clone trooper, but we would like to repay you and your brothers, in some way, for your service."

Three pairs of eyes regarded him – Yxias kept hers downcast – but all Crest could manage was a few useless half-words. At last he took a breath to collect himself and swallowed thickly. "I'll have to think about it."

"Understandable." Amidala smiled at him and stood up gracefully, which was apparently the cue that the meeting was over.

A few minutes later, Crest stood in the apartment's foyer, shaking Senator Bail Organa's hand before the Alderaanian slipped out the door, followed by Mothma and Yxias. Crest was about to join them when something touched his armored shoulder.

"Senator Amidala?"

Her mouth opened, but she hesitated a moment. "How is Sita? We've hardly been able to speak more than a few moments since she abdicated."

Heat rushed to his face and he was hard-pressed to meet the Senator's eyes. "Yes, ma'am, she's been busy."

"I admire her more than I can say. Not many solo rulers would willingly relinquish their power in favor of democracy."

A faint smile tugged at his mouth, despite everything. "She's extraordinary like that, I guess. Uh..." Shab _, should not have said that._ "I mean, she's brave."

Amidala smiled. "You were right the first time. She has spoken quite highly of you," she added carefully. "Especially when she comm'd me about this meeting."

Sita had spoken about him...recently? And it was positive? He could not help his curiosity. "Oh?"

"She has nothing but the highest praise for you. Well-deserved, given what I saw of the press conference."

"Well, she's not so bad herself," Crest replied. "She organized that whole thing; all I did was show up."

The Nubian senator chuckled and gestured to the door. "I'll make sure you're sent my contact information. Please let me know when you make your decision."

Even the hallway outside the 500 Republica apartment was plush; it was something of a surprise, then, to run into the dusty, weary figure of a certain Jedi general. Though not in the GAR any longer, training ran too deep, and Crest immediately snapped to attention.

"General Skywalker."

The Jedi blinked at him, then grinned, suddenly chipper as though he'd just glugged a pot of caf. "Crest. How's it going?"

"Firing on all cylinders, sir."

"Glad to hear it." Skywalker raised a brow. "How's Kalinda? Or do I not want to know?"

Crest fought back a grimace. "She's before the Council now, sir. So...probably less than one-hundred percent."

"The Council has a way of doing that." Skywalker's jaw tightened, his good humor faded as quickly as it had come.

Suddenly, it was a little too crowded here, so Crest cleared his throat. "I should get going. Thank you, Senator," he said saluting the petite, brown-haired woman. "I'll let you know. Good to see you again, General."

Not a moment too soon, and he hurried down the carpeted halls, and it wasn't until later on that he even remembered to wonder what Skywalker had been doing at Amidala's apartment.

Mostly, all he heard were the senator's words rolling through his head:  _Nothing but the highest praise._

* * *

_A little later..._

Zara peered through the bacta tank. Master Tallis' face was distorted by the bubbling, blue liquid, but even so, her trepidation was plain, and Zara's  _lekku_ prickled as she caught wind of the emotion. Or maybe it was her own that she sensed.

"Focus, Zara."

Well, Master Tallis didn't  _sound_ like she was worried. But she was. Zara didn't blame her.

Nodding, Zara turned her attention back to the controls, though she didn't really see them. The tank's settings were fine; it was the rest of this day that was topsy-turvy. After a few moments of idly tapping the control panel's edge, she glanced up at her Master. "Have you heard–"

"No," Honi broke in, frowning. "It's unusual for no one from the Council to respond to a request for a meeting."

"Maybe that's a good thing," Zara offered with a faint smile. "Maybe they aren't upset with us."

Master Tallis' lips pursed, a sure sign she was taking pains to keep her doubt to herself. "Perhaps. Or–"

Honi was cut off by an insistent chirrup of her comm; her face paled, more so than normal, but her answer was brisk. "Tallis, here."

Mace Windu's deep voice seemed to echo in the small room, and made Zara's stomach drop to her knees. "Knight Tallis, please collect your Padawan and meet me at the entrance to the Tranquility Spire."

"Understood, Master," Honi replied.

Thankfully, it wasn't a long trip to the veranda from the Halls of Healing. Zara and Honi's boots made little sound against the polished marble as they strode along the almost empty halls. Dinnertime was nearing, but that wasn't why so few other Jedi were about at this hour. The Temple air was cool and heavy, weighed down with exhaustion and laced with faint, withheld fear that stung the edges of Zara's awareness. Had it always been this way? Or had she simply never noticed the toll that the Wars took?

How many Jedi had died so far? How many more would die before all this was over? The weight in the air seemed to triple, so Zara ducked her head and hurried along.

A few minutes later they reached the blue-carpeted veranda that spread through the Tranquility Spire. Through the open door beyond them, a group of Initiates waved training sabers. The sight was a familiar one, and should have set Zara somewhat at ease, but she could only try to swallow down her agitation.

She was not alone. Honi glanced between the Initiates and her Padawan. "I thought I was ready."

The admission was accompanied by ripples of agitation that even Honi Tallis' cool facade could not hide, and, strangely, gave Zara a measure of calm. "It'll be okay, Master. Kali didn't seem to think they'd kick us out."

"Kalinda is not the best judge of how the Council will react to a given situation." Honi sighed and pushed back an errant strand of copper hair. "But that's not what I was referring to."

"Then what...?"

But Honi didn't reply, for the stern, imposing figure of Mace Windu stepped down one of the curving staircases that led to the meditation chambers. As the Knight and Padawan approached, his stern expression did not change, nor could Zara sense his emotions.

Maybe that was a good thing.

The moment they were in earshot, Master Windu folded his arms across his chest and pierced Honi with his gaze. "You have returned."

"Yes, Master," she said, nodding once. "And I would like to extend my sincere apologies for my and Zara's unscheduled absence."

"So you  _were_  with Kalinda?"

Was it Zara's imagination, or did he sound...uncertain? Surely not. Mace Windu was many things, but  _uncertain_ wasn't one of them.

Honi nodded again. "But she did not ask me to accompany her, Master. I chose to do so of my own accord."

"So did I," Zara added.

"But I take  _full_  responsibility for Zara's presence," Honi said.

Master Windu studied Honi for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Why did you abandon your duties here and follow her?"

Honi's voice did not waver and her gaze was steady. "It was the right thing to do, Master."

"Was it?"

"Kali needed our help," Zara said. Master Windu frowned.

She thought Honi would glare at her for speaking up, but to her surprise, her Master only folded her hands before her and nodded once. "Zara is correct. The situation demanded a trained Healer's presence."

"So I've heard," Master Windu replied, glancing at his wristcomm. "I have also heard that you – both of you – were integral in setting up the clone rehabilitation center on Aruna."

Honi gave a slight bow. "That, too, was the right thing to do, Master. The clones deserve our assistance in every possible way."

Before the Jedi Master could reply, Zara cleared her throat. "Master, do you know of the situation in Timira City?"

He exhaled and, just for a moment, seemed to shrink, just a bit. "I've read Quinlan Vos' report, and Kalinda gave a...detailed account. Believe me," he added, all at once imposing again. "It will be investigated. In the meantime, Knight Tallis, you are to return to your duties immediately. In the future, any extended absences must be cleared through the Council."

With that, he turned on his heel and made to stalk off. Zara's mouth fell open and exchanged glances with Honi, whose expression mirrored hers. However, the copper-haired woman seemed to shake off her surprise and called the Jedi Master's name.

He paused but did not fully turn around. "Is there something else, Knight Tallis?"

"You're not...reprimanding me?"

 _Is she serious?_ Dumbstruck, Zara gaped at her Master, who'd taken a few steps toward the Council member.

No emotion registered in Mace Windu's Force-presence, but one of his eyebrows arched. "Not at this time."

"But...I left," Honi said, shaking her head.

Again, the Jedi Master seemed a little smaller than Zara remembered, as if he, too, felt the weight of the Temple pressing upon his shoulders. Dark eyes flickered between her and Zara before he nodded once. "No, Knight Tallis. You returned."

With that, he slipped off, cloak rippling behind him as he ascended the carpeted steps that led to the meditation chambers.

Neither Honi nor Zara spoke for a moment; the only sounds were the faint hum of training sabers and the occasional laughter of children. It was oddly serene. This whole  _day_ was weird. At last Zara glanced at her Master. "So...Kali was right."

Once more, Honi's face had closed against all emotion, but her voice wavered. "So she was."

* * *

Shameless plug: In hopes of getting properly published, I've entered my original work in a contest. If you like my writing, [check out my original work,  _Catalyst Moon: Incursion_ , over on Inkitt! ](http://www.inkitt.com/stories/22428)

Thanks for reading! Stay awesome. :)


	53. Chapter Fifty Two

[Lyrics: "Fire and Rain," by Matt Kearney, from City of Black and White.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qH_XCuf_jTM&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp&index=53)

* * *

**Chapter Fifty-Two**

_I'll meet you half-way,_

_If you're coming the long way._

_Don't care what the people say,_

_Of the prodigal runaway,_

_'Cause they don't know you like I do._

Ares would never consider himself a paragon of tidiness, but Bane's ship  _stank._ The stench may have had something to do with the old food containers, empty power packs, and cigarra butts that littered the  _Sleight of Hand's_ interior, and Ares was hard-pressed to suppress his gag reflex with almost every breath. It wasn't the sort of smell one could easily get used to, and he'd had the better part of two days to try.

Perhaps he should have welcomed the odor as a distraction, or at least considered it penance for what he was about to do, but most of his mental energy had been consumed with  _not_ thinking too hard. Soon the  _Stark Raven_ would be his again. That was all that mattered. It had to be.

"I set us down about five klicks from Rudral," Bane said from the pilot's chair, a lit cigarra dangling from his mouth. Curling trails of smoke contrasted with the waning light beyond the viewport as dusk fell over this part of Aruna. There were no settlements here, only distant mountains and rocky terrain.

Bane tapped the control panel. "Cloak is up and no one's scanned us." His hat tilted as he glanced over his shoulder, where Ares stood just behind him. "Time to make good on your end, tailhead."

Now was not the time or place for lewd jokes, even if Ares' throat had not been dry and his heart had drummed at a normal pace. Nodding, he entered Kalinda's code on his comlink, though he was torn between relief and shame while he waited for the link to take hold. She was not just a Jedi, but a wife and mother, and, as far as he knew, she did not deserve to be captured by the likes of Bane. Was he truly prepared to go through with this?

 _Freedom_ , he reminded himself. It was worth everything.

Even honor.

The comlink chirruped as the link opened, and a clone voice filled the cockpit. "Who the fek is this?"

It could have been any clone, of course, and from the sounds of chatter, there were a few of them around the speaker. But Ares knew the timber and pace of this particular baritone, and his heart froze in his chest. "Trax?"

"Ares?"

"Yes," he managed after a beat. Bane's eyes narrowed as the Duros blew a puff of smoke toward him, and Ares fought for self-control. "I have information about Stonewall. May I speak with Kalinda?"

A wary edge came over Trax's voice. "What kind of information?"

Ares swallowed tightly and forced himself to speak normally. "I know where he is. I wanted to tell her as soon as possible. Is she available?"

Silence bloomed around him, so deliberate it was almost tangible, until Trax replied. "She's not here."

"Where is she?"

Trax's reply was clipped. "Somewhere else."

_Kriff._

Bane's face was shadowed by the brim of his hat and the darkness beyond the viewport, but his quiet, dry chuckle was audible. Clearly  _he_ wasn't surprised in the least. Or concerned. Why should he be afraid of a foolish former slave, playing at being a hunter? They were on Bane's ship, with Bane's resources at his spindly, blue fingertips. In his eyes, there was no danger from Ares here, or anywhere. He was quite capable of finding his prey on his own.

Both  _lekku_ twitched and heat flooded Ares' body. Sweat pricked his palms and the small of his neck, because he was, to put it rudely, fekked. He blinked into the viewport and his own reflection peered back at him, distorted by the mountains and the encroaching night.

 _I am going to die here._ He'd not told Clio or Elpenor where he was going, simply snuck out of their home after they'd gone to bed – old habits. No one would know where Bane dumped his body. And he deserved such a fate.

Then Trax spoke again, slightly harried and muffled, as though he'd turned away from whoever was around him. "You sound...weird. What the fek is going on?"

How strange, the way the scarred soldier's voice had changed. The rough edges smoothed, softened by hope and some other emotion Ares didn't want to consider. Understanding swept across his entire being, a crashing wave eager to bring him to his knees.

 _How can I do this?_  The answer was simple.

He wouldn't.

With this thought came, not quite  _calm_ , but  _acceptance_. So there it was: he would die at Bane's hands, a slave to his idiotic choices, but at least he would not die without honor. He'd lived enough without freedom; perhaps dying without it was fitting.

"Nothing's going on," he said easily. "I apologize for bothering you."

He paused, searching his memory for the right pronunciation; with this came an image of Trax's scarred face, watching him leave this same planet. " _Ni ceta,_ Traxis, _"_ Ares said at last. "Please believe that."

Before Trax could reply, Ares cut the link and looked up, into crimson eyes and trailing cigarra smoke. Beyond Bane's seat was the door to the cockpit; the rest of the  _Sleight of Hand_ was bathed in darkness and cluttered with garbage. Perhaps, if he was quick, he would have a chance. At least he was armed.

Adrenaline pulsed through Ares' veins, but he managed to keep his voice light. "I suppose it's too much to ask for you to return me to Ryloth?"

Bane shrugged and reached for his blaster in one fluid motion and Ares tensed the muscles of his legs in preparation. Bane's reply was smooth, mocking. "Eh. I figured I'd just leave your worthless carcass here."

"That would be easier," Ares agreed. His voice sounded tinny beneath the furious lash of his heart, but when the first hail of blaster bolts fell, he was already darting for the door.

* * *

_A few minutes earlier..._

Traxis slashed his hand in the signal for "cease fire," and the shriek of blasters halted immediately. The troopers that were lined up beside him stood at attention, weapons tucked against their shoulders, eyes ahead, faces solemn. Not too shabby. He caught Weave's eyes at Misfit Squad's other side, and nodded once to show his approval.

But his medic- _vod's_ gaze flickered to the targets, and Trax sighed. The row of flimsiwood cut-outs were intermittently peppered with scorch marks; the rocky outcropping behind them, however, had been shot to  _haran._ So much for his brief flash of hope. It was just as well. Optimism had never been his strong suit.

He looked back at Misfit Squad. Those troopers closest to him – Zero and an older-looking fellow named Trig – had been watching him, but beneath his gaze they snapped forward sharply, practically quivering with nerves.

Maybe he should have been pleased, as they had come pretty far in the last couple of months. But the only emotion Traxis could muster was annoyance as he nodded to the targets. "You lot do know the object of target practice is to  _hit_  the fekking target, right?"

Any remaining semblance of order dissipated as Misfit Squad erupted into an indignant chorus.

"We're trying!"

"The kickback on this thing is kriffing terrible – it messes up my aim!"

"You've been running us ragged ever since we set foot on this planet!"

Zero tapped the butt of his pistol. "In my defense, I only have one arm."

Traxis snorted. "When Rime out-shoots you, shiny, you have  _no_  defense."

"Cobble," the Misfit Squad medic added sagely, nudging Rime's side with his elbow.

The blind clone raised his face to the sky, painted crimson and gold by the setting sun. "Did I hit  _my_  target, at least?"

It was kind of a dicey move to give a blind guy a blaster, but there was little danger of a mishap in this controlled environment, so Trax and Weave hadn't thought there'd be an issue. Hell, Rime was a better shot than half of the others, and all Trax had told him to do was point his rifle straight ahead. At least he followed orders.

Weave replied before Traxis could. "You did, actually. And you're all getting better, each day–"

"'Better' my  _shebs,_ " Traxis broke in, scowling. "If they're 'better,' than I'm a crinking Hutt."

"Trax–"

But apparently he was on a roll, though he did switch to Mando'a so only Weave would understand. "Fek,  _vod,_ we've been at this for  _days_. We're all clones; they should be able to pick this up, same as us. Kriff, this is getting ridiculous."

"They weren't trained the same way as you and I," Weave replied, also in Mando'a. The others began to shift in place, casting wary glances at one another.

Traxis ignored them and clenched his fists. "It's not right.  _None_  of this is right."

His brother regarded him a moment, then glanced at the others and spoke in Basic. "Why don't you guys start packing up? We're losing the light, anyway." As Misfit Squad began to disperse, he looked back at Trax. "When was the last time he checked in?"

Trust a medic to go straight to the problem. Weave was kind of obnoxious that way. "This morning. They'd just landed; he said he'd comm once Kali was done with the meeting."

Weave's brows knitted. "That was probably hours ago."

They each wore their armor, but both men had their helmets clipped to their belts; Misfit Squad, of course, had no armor. They hardly had weapons, but Trax's collection of blasters was, apparently, enough to outfit a small army, and the palace guards had donated the rest. A couple of bikes and large speeders had also been provided, and while it was good to get out of Rudral, Trax found that even training the shinies wasn't enough of a distraction, not when his  _vode_ were scattered across the galaxy.

"I should have gone with them," Trax muttered. But no. He'd been so effing worried about running into Ares – an impossibility on such a populated planet as Corrie – and he'd chosen to stay behind, like a karking coward. At least Weave had the luxury of a distraction in working on the tiny droids; even now, his brother had his fragging datapad at the ready.

"You weren't worried before," Weave said gently. "Why start now? What changed?"

"Nothing." Traxis sighed and skimmed his gloved hands along the barrel of one of the modded blasters he'd taken from Stonewall. It fired even better than it looked. "I'm just second-guessing myself."

Weave nodded. "Happens to the best of us."

His tone was somber, even for him, and his shoulders sank. But before Trax could question him, his comlink chirped with an incoming transmission. Holstering his pistol, Traxis furrowed his brow as he read aloud the text-only message. "'Finished with the Council. Bringing W and H to Fox now, then will bang out.'"

"Did he say how it went?"

"No." Traxis sighed and rubbed his forehead. " _Di'kut._ Of course  _now_  he's kriffing succinct. I  _told_ him I wanted regular updates."

Weave gave a quiet chuckle. "I imagine he's got a lot to deal with right now, Trax. But I think if there was a problem, he'd let us know."

"He could've given a little more intel." Trax scowled. Fragging officers were all the same, even when their rank had been stripped away.

The medic seemed to hesitate, then cleared his throat. "So he didn't mention anyone else?"

"Like who?"

Weave gave a shrug that was probably meant to be casual and immediately looked down at his 'pad. "Just...anyone. Milo and Crest, maybe. Or..."

Ah. For all of Weave's tact, he was pretty  _shabla_ obvious when it came to a certain Jedi fem. Too bad he always seemed to fall for the ones out of his reach.

"Like Tallis?" Traxis kept his reply as neutral as possible; Weave was a good  _vod_ who rarely gave him  _osik_ about his own love-life – or lack thereof – so there was no reason to aggravate him. "He didn't say."

Weave flushed and rubbed his neck, then glanced to where the other guys were loading up their equipment on the speeders. Still flushing, he mumbled something about helping them before hurrying off. Traxis sighed again. He didn't know much about women, but the red-haired Jedi didn't seem like she wanted anything to do with anyone.

_But what the fek do I know?_

There was a soft thunk as Zero dropped his weapon, though thankfully it didn't go off.  _Better go help them before they blow us to kriff._ Traxis lost himself in disassembling the targets and loading the speeders, until his comlink chirruped again. Finally. Maybe Stonewall had finally deigned to send a real effing sitrep.

But when he checked the transmission's source, he didn't recognize the code. Blaster tucked in one arm, Trax activated the device. "Who the fek is this?"

"Trax?"

No fekking way. It couldn't be. Why would  _he_ call now? All of a sudden, Traxis'  _di'kut_ heart dove into his stomach and began swimming laps. His throat went dry and he honest-to-Force nearly dropped the blaster. "Ares?"

There was a pause before the familiar, lilting Ryl accent swept over Traxis. "Yes. I have information about Stonewall. May I speak with Kalinda?"

Familiar, yes, but there was something...off in Ares' tempo. A lifetime of living among men with the same voice had attuned Traxis to the tiniest change in pitch or cadence, even if he hadn't known Ares very long in the grand scheme of the galaxy. Something wasn't right.

Not to mention the subject matter was... Well, it was cause for suspicion. Unless Ares  _also_ had secret Force-abilities, any information he had on Stonewall was likely to be out-of-date.

"What kind of information?" Traxis asked.

"I know where he is," Ares said, a little too quickly. "I wanted to tell her as soon as possible. Is she available?"

Yeah. Something was weird. Traxis' frown deepened as someone came to stand beside him. Make that several someones. Zero, Rime, Cobble and Weave had surrounded him, glancing between Traxis and the comlink and muttering amongst themselves.

All but Weave, of course, who only studied the comlink, no doubt trying to catch the source code. Traxis caught his  _vod's_ eye and gave a slight shake of his head to indicate that something was off as he answered. "She's not here."

"Where is she?"

"Somewhere else."

There was another pause, and Traxis exchanged another speculative look with Weave, who frowned. Yeah, this whole situation was getting weirder and weirder. Traxis' heart stopped the laps, but only because his gut twisted. Why the fek would Ares need this information? Unless...

 _No_ , he thought, gripping the comlink.  _It can't be._  Maybe Ares had done some stupid  _osik,_ but he was one of the good ones. Traxis had little use for blind conviction, but this he knew as surely as he knew his name.

Something was wrong, but it wasn't  _Ares._ Something else was going on. Was he in trouble? Traxis passed off the rifle to a confused Zero and turned away from the others, pitching his voice low to keep the others from overhearing. "You sound...weird. What the fek is going on?"

In a stark contrast to his earlier words, Ares' reply now was smooth as cigarra smoke. "Nothing's going on. I apologize for bothering you."

Traxis opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, Ares added, calmly, " _Ni ceta,_ Traxis _._ Please believe that."

The link died. Trax was left slack-jawed and suddenly, inexplicably, terrified.  _What the fek is going on?_ circled through his head while he stared at the comlink like a  _shabla_ moron.

 _Ni ceta._ Ostensibly an apology, but...more. A lot more. It was the sort of thing you said to someone you'd truly wronged; a Mandalorian plea for forgiveness. Since when did Ares know Mando'a?

 _Fek. I said it to him._  The memory came rushing back with the cooling night breeze. It was one of the last things Traxis had said to Ares, the day after they'd arrived on Aruna. It'd been a plea then, too, but not entirely one centered on forgiveness, though Trax had a lot of stuff to apologize for.

_I wanted him to stay._

His breath caught.

"Trax?" Weave placed a hand on his shoulder-bell, drawing his attention. "What's going on?"

"It's Ares," Traxis managed.

Weave frowned at the comlink again. "What did he want? Is everything alright?"

"I don't know." Traxis shook his head to clear it and met his brother's eyes. "Can you trace a comlink's transmission source from that  _shabla_ 'pad of yours?"

When it mattered, Weave always got right to the point. Before Trax had finished the sentence, his medic- _vod_ had grabbed the comlink and was tapping away at the datapad. "Definitely," he said as he worked, forehead furrowed. "Huh. Looks like it's onplanet, not far from here, actually."

What wasn't mountains was rocky ground, and there was a fekload of it. Traxis swallowed thickly. "Can you narrow it down?"

Weave made a noise of satisfaction. "Got it. Ares comm'd from about five klicks to the northeast. We can be there within a few minutes."

"Who's Ares?" Rime asked suddenly, blaster rifle tucked in the crook of his shoulder.

"That tailhead pilot who dropped us off on this planet," Zero replied wryly. "Weren't you paying attention at all?"

"Nice thing to say to a blind guy," Rime snorted.

"Yes, he's the fekking Twi'lek," Traxis snarled at Zero and Rime, breaking through their banter. He turned his glare on the lot of them and fought to keep his voice from conveying the sudden terror that had caught in his throat. "All of you: Finish loading up our shit, 'cause we're about to bang out."

"What's going on?" Zero asked as the rest of Misfit Squad scurried to the speeders.

Traxis shoved on his bucket and strode for the nearest speeder bike. "We're going on a rescue mission, shiny. Now move your  _shebs."_

* * *

Thank the Force Crest's white-haired former-queen had a taste for fast vehicles, because even traveling at a breakneck pace, it took Traxis, Weave, and Misfit Squad far too long to reach the source of Ares' signal: a dusty clearing in the middle of nowhere. As he could tell, there was nothing here besides rocky outcroppings and fading daylight.

Traxis had taken point, flanked by Weave and Zero, so he was the first one to halt his vehicle at the edge of the clearing. "HUD's useless," he muttered to Weave on an open-mic channel. "Can your medscanner tell if there's anyone here?"

"Sort of," Weave replied. "It's best in close proximity, but I'm picking up two faint heat signatures about ten meters ahead, plus lots of ion particles...probably from a starship engine."

"I know I'm new at this soldier-business," Zero said as Cobble cut the engine on their speeder. "But are starships usually invisible?"

It would be a waste of energy to yell at the  _di'kut,_ so Traxis only gritted his teeth and dismounted. "It's probably a cloaking device," he said curtly.

"Did Ares have one on his ship?" Weave asked.

That uncomfortable twisting in Traxis' gut got worse. Good thing he had a remedy. He withdrew both pistols and flicked off the safeties. "No. But that fekker Bane did – at least, he did on Corrie."

Weave's voice dropped in pitch and he, too, reached for his deece. "Why would Cad Bane be here?"

"No idea,  _vod."_ But it likely wasn't good. Traxis risked a glance at the other clones, who'd clumped behind him and Weave. "Misfit Squad, form up. Ready your weapons and watch each others' backs, and for fek's sake, don't shoot unless Weave or I give the order."

A chorus of, "copy that" broke out among them as they scrambled to form two neat rows, and Weave sighed. "And keep quiet," the medic added. To Trax, he said, "Well, there goes any chance at stealth."

Only part of Traxis' brain registered his brother's words. His attention had gone to the space before him, which, upon closer inspection, seemed to ripple, as if the air were a curtain being ruffled by the wind.  _Weird._ Blasters raised, he took a few paces forward. "Kriff. See that? The air..."

"It's a side effect of a cloaking device." Weave studied his scanner, then pointed to a spot several meters to Trax's left. "The ion particles are concentrated there, which could be where the hyperdrive is located."

"That's well and good, but what about the front door?" Zero muttered.

For once, Traxis was in agreement with the one-armed clone. Luckily, he didn't have to voice the fact. The scream of blaster fire broke through the quiet of the clearing as two figures came charging seemingly out of thin air, emerging about five meters to the right. Even in the fading light, the silhouettes were distinct: one was tall and thin, with a wide-brimmed hat and blazing red eyes. The other...

Ares stumbled down the loading ramp, ahead of Bane by only a few paces. One hand was wrapped around his midsection and he staggered as if he were blind drunk; he carried a blaster in his other hand, but his grip was loose and fumbling.

Traxis didn't think. He lunged forward.

* * *

Everything hurt. Both  _lekku_ burned from when Bane had dragged Ares bodily from behind a crate of illegal blasters. That was before the punch that had surely broken his nose, but  _after_ the Duros had fired a shot at his guts, though thankfully Ares had been able to twist out of the way; the bolt had only grazed. Somehow, he didn't quite remember, he'd managed to dart for the  _Sleight of Hand'_ s entry hatch while Bane withdrew a thermal det from some hidden place in his gear.

Now Ares' vision was gray and dim, and he could not distinguish the ground from the loading ramp, only barrel forward in hopes of putting as much distance as possible between himself and Cad Bane.  _Stupid, stupid_ ; the litany beat a strange cadence in his brain. Perhaps he should let Bane incinerate him. He did not have the  _Stark Raven._ He did not have his freedom, or even very much honor. He did not really have anything.

Streaks of electric crimson screamed past his left  _lek;_ there was heat and the scent of ozone and burning skin. More pain. A burn so hot it froze. Perhaps another glancing blow, but it was so hard to think. Ares stumbled again, this time careening face forward into the dirt. Rocks tore at his hand as he instinctively tried to catch his fall, and he tightened his grip on his blaster, for whatever good it would do. He was going to die here and no one would miss him. Well and so; he deserved nothing better.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something white, something that shone as it cut through the night with a purposeful stride. The white shape approached, sharpened into a man in armor...

For one moment, Ares forgot to be frightened. Surely it couldn't be. Surely he was hallucinating. The armored figure leaped forward, planting himself between Ares and Bane and raising two pistols.

"Stand the fek down, you karking  _shabuir,_ " the man in armor snarled.

 _Traxis._ Ares' heart lifted.

Ares twisted his head around to see Cad Bane's crimson eyes narrow; he'd not moved down the loading ramp, and was bathed in the shadow of a nearby rock formation "Who's gonna make me, jar-brain?"

"Me."

Cad Bane's laugh was low. "You and what fekking army?"

Another clone voice emerged from Ares' right. "This fekking army."

One more white-armored figure appeared, flanked by a dozen or so Human men who wore no kit, but had the same face. Thoughts were slow in coming, but Ares recognized some of the men he'd brought from that lonely facility on Kamino. Armor or not, they each had a weapon trained on the Duros.

The second white-armored clone – Ares, dazed, could not match a name to his voice – added, "You're surrounded, Bane. It's over. Drop your weapons."

Bane laughed again, and it was only because Ares was on the ground that he saw the bounty hunter flick his wrist, no doubt preparing a nasty surprise. "Nah," he said in a bored voice. "I don't think so."

Ares' heart froze.  _The thermal det!_

Traxis still stood between Ares and Cad Bane. At this he raised one pistol, aimed and fired in a single, fluid motion. The shot bit into Bane's shoulder, but Bane was strong and had likely been shot many times, and did not waver. He returned fire, lobbing a barrage of bolts at Trax even as he stepped backward, seemingly into empty air, making for his still-cloaked ship. If he reached it, he'd throw the det and leave everyone here a smoking pile of slag while he flew off.

"Thermal det," Ares managed to choke out. "Traxis..."

Without pausing, Traxis stepped forward, into the river of bolts Bane poured his way; two shots struck his chest-piece, another bit against his thigh plate. Acrid, burning plastoid filled the air, and still Traxis marched forward, dodging what he could and returning fire, hopefully enough to distract Bane from using his det. The other clones fired too, but many of their shots went wild and the closer Traxis got, the more danger there was from being struck by friendly fire. The other armored clone shouted something, but Ares didn't catch the words.

All of his attention was on Traxis, fearlessly, ridiculously determined to risk his own life to save a lowly  _chakaar_ tailhead.

Only a few seconds had passed since the firefight began, and likely it would not last much longer. Each breath hurt and his poor  _lekku_ were screaming, but there was no choice. Ares gripped his blaster, checked the settings, and aimed.

* * *

The first shot didn't hurt. It was more like a punch in the chest. Easy to ignore.

The second shot stung, but Phase II kits were kriff-loads better than their predecessors; what good was armor if it wouldn't protect the wearer against a few blaster bolts?

Shots three and four burned, but within, Traxis was strangely calm. The entire world had seemed to slow; even the shots that  _shabuir_ Bane fired at him seemed to meander by, lazy and ineffectual. He could duck or dodge them with ease. It was, he realized, the first time he'd ever charged into battle with his blood  _not_ boiling.

Ares was in danger. Traxis would protect him. It was simple, really. Plus the pistols he'd taken from Stonewall were effing sweet to shoot, like extensions of his arms. Distantly, he was angry at Bane and concerned for his  _vode_ and Ares, but that strange sense of calm flooded over those other feelings, washing them clean. Was this what it felt like to use the Force?

His shots were fast, but Bane was agile, more than a man in full body armor could hope to be, and was able to duck out of the way. A twinge of anxiety nipped at Traxis' calm, but he ignored it and marched forward, stumbling every few moments as the bolts tried to shove him off his feet.

Only when he was close enough to look into Bane's crimson eyes did he see the thermal det, and his heart froze in his chest.  _Fek_.  _Who's the_ shabuir _, now?_

Bane smiled.

A buzzing whine broke loose behind Traxis, immediately followed by what felt like a kick in his shoulder, and his world went hazy.

* * *

Weave's heart was in his throat. The stun bolt swept past Trax, glancing off of his shoulder, before meeting its mark in Bane's chest. The Duros crumpled to the loading ramp, and something small and round bounced away from his grip, onto the dirt.

Weave recognized a thermal det when he saw one. "Hold," he called to Misfit Squad. "That's a thermal det – no one  _move_!"

The det lay in the dust, silent and still. Exhaling in relief, Weave nodded to Bane. "Cinder, Roth, Trig: See that he doesn't go anywhere – and do a thorough search. I'll bet he's got some other toys tucked away. Leave the det for now; we'll collect it later. Zero, help Traxis to his feet. Cobble; you're with me. The rest of you, keep your blasters trained on Bane, and don't for one  _second_ let him out of your sights."

"Me, too?" Rime asked. "'Cause that's hardly fair."

Weave sighed. "Go help your brothers."

Ares knelt on the ground, fingers still wrapped around his blaster, though his face was contorted with pain. At Weave and Cobble's approach he looked up, blinking. "Traxis?"

"No, it's Weave," Weave said, kneeling beside the Twi'lek and withdrawing his scanner while Cobble began rummaging through his medkit. Thankfully, one of the other clones thought to set up a few lanterns to push back the darkness.

Ares glanced around, though given the way Misfit Squad was milling about, he likely couldn't see much of anything. "Is he...?"

"Your stun bolt grazed him," Weave said calmly as he ran the scanner's wand over Ares' left  _lek,_ where a mottled, purple bruise was starting to form. "And his kit's probably done for. But he's had worse. He should be fine."

"Cobble," the other medic said, gently urging Ares to tilt his head so he could wipe up the worst of the blood and patch up Ares' broken nose _._

Ares obeyed, but his eyes still darted in search of Trax. Weave knew the moment Ares saw his scarred brother, for Ares' entire body relaxed even as his pulse picked up. That, and the huge smile, quite an odd sight against his bloody, bruising face.

Bucket tucked under one arm, Traxis knelt beside Weave, but his eyes, too, were fixed on the Twi'lek. "What the fek are you doing here, you  _di'kut_?"

"I should ask you the same thing, my friend." Ares' eyes lidded even as Cobble smoothed a bandage over his nose. "I'm sor–"

"You already said that," Traxis broke in, shaking his head. "You're here. You're okay. We're all okay. That's all that fekking matters to me."

"The ends do not justify the, ah, intention." Ares' voice softened, and Weave got the sense that he and Cob were intruding on a private moment. But he had a job to do. Best to focus on that plasma burn on Ares' side.

Then Traxis leaned forward and pressed his palm against Ares' neck, one thumb skimming the Twi'lek's jaw. "Shut the fek up," Traxis muttered, "and let me kiss you, already."

Weave sighed and sat back. He caught Cobble's eyes and bit back a laugh at the other medic's flushing cheeks. "They can't do much out here, in either of their states," he said to Cob. "Best let them get it out of their systems."

Cobble's blush deepened and he nodded quickly, glancing at the rest of Misfit Squad. Weave studied his scanner and tried not to think of blue eyes and coppery hair.

* * *

There was nothing better than this. There had never been. Traxis held Ares close and kissed him like it was his last day alive.

He would have done it forever, too, but Ares pulled back, hissing in pain. "I should remind you that my nose is broken..."

"Sorry," Trax replied, breathless and grinning like a kark. "You can pay me back, later."

Ares chuckled and his eyes on Traxis were warm. "Is that so, my friend?"

"You're damn right." If anything, Trax's  _shabla_ grin widened.

Weave cleared his throat. "I hate to break up the reunion, but you  _both_ need medical attention, and I'd like to do so in the comfort of a medbay."

Without looking at his  _vod,_ Traxis nodded. "Copy that."

He rose, a little stiffly; his armor was shot to hell and he'd probably have all kinds of bruises and burns beneath the plastoid plating, but right now he felt no true pain. Ares took his hand and Trax helped him to his feet, and they limped, together, to the nearest speeder bike.

* * *

Next time: Back to Corrie. :)

If you'd like to read my original novel, (featuring Kali, Stonewall & Milo in a fantasy setting), remove the spaces and check it out here: www . inkitt stories/22428


	54. Chapter Fifty-Three

Hey, remember waaay back when I said this story is AU? Good. 'Cause it's gonna be  _really_ obvious in a moment. ;) Also, this chapter briefly references events from my one-shot,  _Not Fooling Anyone._

Lyrics: ["Heart and Soul," by John Brown's Body, from  _Pressure Points._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BX2VgYWkXDU&index=54&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp)

* * *

**Chapter Fifty-Three**

_Does anyone here know what it means to be a family?_

_Can anyone here look around them and see people that they love?_

_Yet we feel hunted,_

_Some of us unwanted._

_They don't know, they don't know,_

_Heart and soul._

_Meanwhile..._

Rex pressed his gloved hand against the tank and watched his brother within. Thanks to the sedatives one of Fox's medics had administered, Fives' face was peaceful, but Rex could discern the faint lines around his eyes and mouth. Those were new.

"The entry code has been set." Commander Fox's voice broke the too-quiet of the Corrie Guard medbay; the commander's familiar, steady tread set Rex a little more at ease. "Only you, me, and Verve have clearance to enter. How is he?"

"Stable." Rex did not tear his eyes from his  _vod_ as Fox came to stand at his side, and for a moment they both watched the ARC trooper floating amidst the pale blue liquid.

At last Fox sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Rex, I'm–"

"You didn't–"

"I  _did,_ " Fox broke in, shaking his head. "He's here because of me."

Ever since Ringo Vinda – hell, ever since Umbara – Rex's armor had felt heavier than normal. His shoulders sagged. "He pulled a weapon on you. You had every right to defend yourself. I'm just thankful your blaster was set to stun."

"He was acting erratically; I couldn't have killed him in good conscience." Fox's voice hardened. "But I could have done  _something_ else. I could have–"

Rex placed a hand on the commander's shoulder. "With respect, sir, that kind of thinking will drive you to a very dark place."

Fox's eyes dropped to the gleaming medbay floor and his hands tightened into fists at his sides. "I don't want to lose another brother."

Kriff, Rex knew the feeling. Sometimes, when he couldn't sleep, he would lie awake in his bunk and whisper their names in the darkness. Over the long years of the Wars, the number of names had grown exponentially, until one night he realized he knew more men who'd died than men who still lived.

He looked back at Fives. How much the man had aged in such a short time. They all had, but Fives had always seemed to carry it better than most. Even after Echo.

But no longer.

"Verve says he's only authorized to keep Fives for one rotation," Fox continued. "His injuries don't warrant anything more, and we are watched very closely here. Word is that everything is recorded for  _posterity_." His voice was steady, if grimly amused. "What will happen when he's released?"

Rex's stomach twisted. "General Skywalker received the request from the Chancellor himself. He wants Fives confined to a detention cell, but..."

The words died in his throat and he could hardly form the accompanying thought. The Chancellor, part of some conspiracy to destroy the Jedi? Using the clone army, somehow? The idea was laughable; had he heard one of the shinies spouting such garbage, he'd have made the fellow scrub the  _Resolute,_ stem to stern – with a  _shabla_ toothbrush.

But...

Could it be true? The Chancellor was the highest authority in the Republic, but the way Fives had spoken in the warehouse made Rex think...

"What he said about the Chancellor," Fox's voice was barely a whisper, "do you think it's true?"

Suddenly his armor was three sizes too tight and Rex could not take a proper breath. This was a dangerous conversation to have here. To have  _anywhere._ He pulled his hand back from the glass. "All I know is Fives isn't safe here."

Whatever was going on with his  _vod_ was larger than he – maybe anyone – understood. This feeling, he trusted, for it came from that place within his gut that had saved his  _shebs_ a hundred times over on the battlefield.

"Then where?" Fox asked.

"I don't know." Rex tried to keep his voice calm, like Fox, but it sounded hoarse and bitter. Could any clone ever be truly safe? What did  _safety_  mean for men who were bred to be expendable?

Just then, Fox's wrist-comm chimed. The commander stepped away from the bacta tank and Rex looked at Fives' peaceful form once more. Kriff, he could still remember Fives as a shiny, so fresh off Kamino he smelled of the sea. Now he was an ARC trooper. But where Rex would have normally felt a keen sense of pride, there was only a hollow echo of uncertainty. It wasn't right.

It wasn't  _fair._

"But he's  _dead_ ," Fox said suddenly, loud enough to make Rex turn. "How the fek can he be in my office?" Fox sighed deeply and rubbed his jaw. "Never mind. I'll come see what this is all about. I'm in Medbay Forn, so it'll take a minute."

"Trouble, sir?" Rex asked as Fox shut off his wrist-comm.

"I hardly know any more." The commander sighed again and nodded at the door. "Feel like coming along?"

Rex cast a look at Fives, but Fox shook his head. "He'll be fine for now, Rex, but I'd like you around for this."

It wasn't an order, not exactly, but neither was it a request. Fox could be tactful that way. Rex agreed and they headed for the exit.

"Did you ever meet Captain Stonewall, of Shadow Squad?" Fox asked after a moment. "One of Cody's men?"

"Meet him?  _Shab,_ Shadow's weapons expert came from Torrent," Rex said as they headed out of the medbay. He searched his memory; so much had happened lately, it was difficult to keep track of all but a few men not in his immediate vicinity. "I heard he was sent to Kamino, but I don't know why."

"Apparently, it's classified," Fox replied darkly. "And in any case, it doesn't matter. Captain Stonewall's dead."

Rex halted right outside the medbay. His stomach sank with that familiar, uncomfortable weight that always came with the knowledge of another fallen brother. "Dead?"

"Or at least," Fox added, urging Rex along, "he's listed as 'deceased.'"

"Not much room for interpretation," Rex said carefully. "So...what's got your  _kama_  in a twist? Sir," he added as Fox shot him a  _look._

They reached a turbolift and stepped inside. Fox punched in the code and exhaled as the 'lift began to move. "Apparently he's here. He wants to speak with me."

"Stonewall?"

"The same."

Rex frowned at the numbers on the 'lift's control panel. "How the fek is that possible?"

A cool chime sounded above their heads as the 'lift paused, and Fox slanted Rex a lifted brow. "My thoughts, exactly."

* * *

It  _was_ Stonewall, all right, and he wasn't alone.

As Rex and Fox entered the commander's office, the two clones in gray-splashed armor snapped to attention, helmets tucked neatly beneath the crooks of their arms, eyes ahead. Stonewall stood at parade-rest a pace in front of them; though he, too, wore full kit, there was something different about him – and it had nothing to do with his lack of weapons.

The feeling was magnified when Stonewall's eyes fell upon Rex, widened, and looked away. The pressure in the small room seemed to change. The air thickened and it became slightly more difficult to breathe for a split second before the feeling faded.

When Fox took a seat at his desk, Rex standing by his right shoulder, Stonewall saluted. "Thank you for meeting me, Commander. Rex," he added, a little quieter. "It's good to see you again."

"The last time I saw you," Fox said, crossing his arms and giving the captain a once-over, "was as my men were dragging you aboard a shuttle bound for Kamino. Two and a half months later, you show up in my office. Care to fill in the gaps, Captain?"

Stonewall hesitated before offering a less-than-suitable reply. "It's a long story, sir."

Had he been one of Rex's men the non-answer wouldn't have passed muster. Fox seemed to be of the same mind. "You're going to have to do better than that."

Nodding, Stonewall gestured to the clones behind him. "Yes, sir. But before I go into it, I'd like to introduce some hopeful transfers. Bonnets off,  _vode._ "

At the command, both clones removed their buckets and tucked them in the crook of their arms. In the manner of shinies, their form was perfect. Oddly, though, both men looked Fox's age, maybe a few months older.

"Ward," Stonewall said, pointing to one clone, who saluted. "And Halligan," he added with a nod to the other fellow, who was bald. "They're a bit rough around the edges, but they're good men. I can vouch for that."

Only through years of working closely with Jedi was Rex able to keep his bafflement from showing on his face. Fox, too, managed to maintain a stoic expression, though he  _had_ to be surprised as  _haran_ at this development.

This was confirmed when it took the Corrie Guard commander a few seconds too long to formulate a response. "Transfers? On whose orders?"

Stonewall shook his head. "No one's, sir. Ward and Hal requested to be assigned to the Guard, and General Halcyon," he paused and said, deliberately, "rather, Kali and I thought they'd be a good fit."

It was no secret among the ranks that Stonewall had harbored a long-time attraction to his Jedi general. Such rumors were common for clones who served under female – or sometimes male – Jedi; much the same thing was said of Bly, Gree, and Rex himself, for that matter. A few daring souls said so of Cody and General Kenobi.

It was also no secret that General Halcyon had a rather unorthodox leadership style. Rex had worked with the dark-haired woman enough to know that she preferred to be addressed by her name, not her rank.

But none of that factored into Rex's surprise, nor did the fact that Stonewall referred to her by her nickname. It was the  _way_ he said it that caused consternation. The inflection went beyond informal. It was downright...intimate.

Fox glanced between the men for a moment before looking back at Shadow Squad's captain. "And what makes you and your general think these two will be a good fit?"

Rather than reply, Stonewall looked at the hopeful transfers; both men's spines straightened and the bald fellow – Halligan – said, "Sir, we served as the sole guards for Sector Nine, of Timira City. Sir."

"For how long?" Fox asked.

"Since graduation, sir," Ward replied. "Going on thirteen years."

"Have you been involved in any campaigns?"

Both men hesitated before Halligan replied. "No, sir. Until a few months ago, neither of us had left Kamino."

"But there were skirmishes on Kamino," Rex heard himself say. "Surely you took part in those?"

Halligan shook his head. "Timira City was not threatened, sir."

"Sector Nine wasn't much of a target for the Seppies," Ward added wryly.

Rex didn't bother to hide his frown. What the fek was Sector Nine? He'd grown up on the storm world and had never heard of such a place.

Fox seemed to have the same thought, for he regarded Stonewall once more. "I'm assuming you met them on Kamino?"

"Yes, sir."

The commander's gaze turned piercing. " _Now_  would be a good time for that long story, Captain."

Stonewall met Fox's gaze with a calm that Rex had not seen among any clone before. It was almost Jedi-calm. "Sector Nine is where defective clones are sent. It's where I was sent, and Milo, though there's nothing defective about him."

"Defective clones are processed," Fox said, narrowing his eyes. "They're not  _sent_ anywhere, except to their deaths."

"Not all of them are processed," Stonewall replied. "A small fraction are sent – were sent, I suppose – to Sector Nine. They..." He paused and, to Rex's surprise, gave a visible shudder. "The clones who were sent there were...studied by a Kaminoan named Creon Dai."

From there, he launched into one of the most horrific descriptions Rex had ever heard. The Dregs, where men were dissected and studied before they were discarded. No chance of dying in battle, cleanly, with a blaster bolt through your skull. No  _vode_ to carry you through the shadows and savor the light. No hope. Nothing.

Fek. Rex shuddered, too.

When Stonewall finished, he placed a hand on Ward's armored shoulder. "They may not be on par with the rest of your men yet, Commander, but I guarantee that, after what these two have witnessed, you'll find no one more determined to start fresh. They just need a chance."

Fox's expression had darkened throughout Stonewall's story. He did not answer for several long moments, only stared at Stonewall as if trying to see through his armor. At last he said, "Very well, Captain. Their transfer is accepted."

Stonewall exhaled. "Thank you, sir."

Nodding, Fox looked at the newbies. "I'll draw up the orders in a moment. For now, head down to Medbay Besh and have my chief medic, Verve, look you over. When I'm done here, I'll come by and get you sorted out. Dismissed."

Both men saluted and stepped for the door, though they each cast a last look at Stonewall. Ward's mouth opened but the captain shook his head once. "It's all right,  _vode._ I know."

Halligan's lips twitched in a smile. "You do, don't you?"

Fox cleared his throat, and both clones hurried out the door. Once it slid shut, the commander cast another long look at Stonewall. "I hardly know where to begin."

"I do," Stonewall replied, lifting his chin. "But you might not believe me."

"I'll take that chance." Fox nodded to the chairs across from his desk; Stonewall and Rex each took a seat, and Shadow Squad's captain considered his bucket, resting in his lap, before he began to speak.

"It's no secret that I love a Jedi," he said quietly. "As much as I – as we – tried to keep it so."

Fox frowned, but Rex nodded. "You've always had a thing for her."

"It's not a 'thing,' Rex. I love her. And," he swallowed, "she loves me, too."

This, Rex had not expected. He shot a look at Fox, whose brows had hit his hairline. "But Jedi..." The commander's words trailed off.

"Jedi are mortal," Stonewall said. "As are we. And as many kinds of  _vode_ are out there, well, there are many kinds of Jedi, too. But you know that."

This was said with a deliberate look at Rex; a chill moved through his entire body, like the temp-controls of his suit were malfunctioning. Yes, he knew Jedi. Too well, almost. They were fallible. They fekked up and got scared. They loved. Skywalker hadn't been the same since Ahsoka had left, and if he were honest, Rex hadn't, either. Force willing, she'd land on her feet and make her own way.

So he nodded to Stonewall again, and the captain continued. "Anyway, after she and I fell in love, something...changed, within me. I don't know how it happened. Only when."

"What are you talking about?" Fox asked, brows knit.

Rather than answer, Stonewall rested his hands on the chair's armrests and regarded his helmet again, only this time, Rex recognized the distant expression that fell upon the other captain's face. The pressure in Fox's small office changed again; the air grew heavy and  _full_ , and there was a faint ringing in his ears.

Of its own volition, Stonewall's bucket lifted and began to spin lazily about a meter above the three clones' heads.

"Kriffing hell," Fox breathed. "What the fek...?"

It was an effort for Rex to tear his eyes away from the helmet, but he managed to meet Stonewall's steady gaze. He shoved the impossibility of the entire thing to the side and cut straight to the facts. "You're Force-sensitive."

"Yeah."

"How long?"

"About eight months."

Fox shook his head again, as if trying to clear it. "Who else knows?"

"At first, no one but Kali." The helmet lowered back to his lap and Stonewall dropped his eyes. "Not even my men. But the wrong person must have found out, somehow."

It was a slippery slope to keep such things from your  _vode,_ but officers seldom had the luxury of confiding in their subordinates.  _Would I have told anyone?_ Rex couldn't say. The entire notion of being Force-sensitive was too foreign to wrap his mind around. "This is why you were sent to Kamino."

"Yes." Stonewall took a deep breath and added, "It's why I was reconditioned."

Both Rex and Fox looked up sharply at this, and the commander leaned forward, eyes fixed on Stonewall's face. "Explain."

It took Stonewall the better part of an hour to tell his story, and answer what questions he could. During this time, Rex found himself torn between rational disbelief, pity, and revulsion. The latter especially so, when Stonewall mentioned his involvement in the Passel Argente debacle.

"That was  _you?_ " Rex ground out the words between his clenched jaws.

Stonewall nodded.

Rex swore and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple. Fek, he was tired. He could not remember the last time he'd had a decent night's rest, and there was no sign he'd have one any time soon. "That op took  _weeks_ to plan. Two of my men  _died!_  Pliny's  _still_ recovering from the karking blast. Kriffing hell, Stonewall–"

"It wasn't his call,  _vod,_ " Fox broke in. "He was following orders. He was reconditioned, for kriff's sake."

"We're more than the sum of our orders," Rex shot back, sitting upright in his chair. "I don't know how you run your operation here, Commander, but  _all_ of my men are always held accountable for their actions."

"Even Umbara?" Fox replied.

Rex gritted his teeth. "Don't you dare. This isn't remotely the same thing."

"It's exactly the same thing," Fox said calmly.

Rex scowled. Cody got the  _exact_  same  _shabla_ tone when he thought he was right.  _Fragging commanders._

"We're engineered to follow orders," Fox went on. "All the experience in the galaxy can't contradict a lifetime of conditioning, especially when that's all a man has." He looked back at Stonewall, who'd seemed to shrink in his chair. "But you're...whole, now?"

Stonewall nodded. "I was able to use the Force to help retain my memories. It's a bit," he frowned, "complicated to explain."

Fury coursed through Rex's veins such that he hardly heard the other captain's words beneath the thunder of his pulse. Clones hurting clones; clones hurting the Republic they were sworn to defend. It all tied in too well with what Fives had raved about. The entire fekking galaxy was unraveling at the seams and he was trying to grab at loose threads. He took a deep breath, but his chest was tight.

"Rex, I did question the orders," Stonewall said after a moment. "But I did it too late. I'm sorry."

What the fek could he say to that? Nothing, not without exploding. The worst part was that Fox was right; Rex had seen reconditioned men too. They weren't normal. Reconditioning was not permanent, but most of them didn't live long enough to learn what it was to  _be_ normal; they died disoriented. Force-abilities notwithstanding, the fact that Stonewall had come back to himself from such a fate was nothing short of miraculous.

But Rex had swallowed about as much bizarre  _osik_ as he could take for the moment, so he pretended to find the corner of Fox's desk fascinating.

After a moment, Fox cleared his throat. "Have you spoken to Cody? He'll want to know you're alive."

"I saw him at the Temple." Stonewall paused. "He's aware of my...status."

"What  _is_  your status?" Rex heard himself ask.

"Officially...I'm dead," Stonewall replied. "My men have been decommissioned. None of us are in the GAR any longer."

Fox's chair creaked as he leaned back, rolling his neck and shoulders. "It says something about this whole mess that I'm not surprised to hear such a thing." He rested his elbows on the desk and regarded Stonewall again. "What will you do now? Where is your general?"

"At the Temple, saying her goodbyes."

Rex closed his eyes.  _Another Jedi gone._ "They kicked her out."

"That's actually up for debate," Stonewall said, a trace of wryness in the words. "She's taking up with the Altisians. I'm thinking of joining her."

 _Of course you are,_ Rex thought darkly. There was a kriffing war on, but Stonewall saw fit to traipse around the galaxy, sniffing after a pretty Jedi fem.

But he shook away the bitter thought as quickly as it'd come.  _Love_. He knew something of love, and the lengths it would drive a person. He was too tired for introspection now, but he thought if he searched within, he'd find something akin to understanding.

So he nodded slowly. "What of your men?"

"They've been working with Misfit Squad," Stonewall replied, smiling faintly. "And helping to outfit the new clone rehab center on Aruna."

As before, a chill passed through Rex, but this was not the foreboding kind. Rather, it was as if the galaxy had tapped his shoulder and signaled the direction he needed to go. The rehabilitation centers. Of course. Suddenly he was a lot less ticked off at Stonewall. He exchanged a look with Fox, who gave a tiny nod.

Fox stood up, causing both Rex and Stonewall to rise as well. "Well, it seems I've got some new recruits to get settled in. Thank you for your time, Captain. I would see you out, but I'm afraid I'll be tied up in Medbay Besh for the next several hours, at least."

This was said to Rex, who caught the meaning at once. "Understood, sir."

Fox nodded and came around the desk to shake Stonewall's hand. "Good luck to you, Captain. Or, I suppose,  _former_ Captain."

"Thank you, sir," Stonewall replied. "And, for what it's worth, I'm sorry for any trouble me or my men caused you...that day."

Fox shook his head. "Forgiven, Stonewall. We heal quickly. Stay safe out there."

"You as well, sir."

* * *

After parting ways with Fox, Rex shot a glance at Stonewall. "You busy?"

"Not at the moment."

"Your Jedi doesn't need you?" Rex couldn't help but add.

But Stonewall only shrugged. "She's sorting out a few things on her own. Besides," he winced, "I'd rather not revisit the  _shabla_ Temple any time soon."

"Can't say I blame you." The Jedi Temple was unsettling in many ways, not the least of which was the kriffing  _quiet_ that somehow went beyond any lack of noise. Rex did not belong there, that much was certain; in the past, when he'd accompanied Skywalker or Ahsoka in the halls, each boot step on the marbled floors had seemed too loud.

He thumbed towards the turbolifts. "Come on. I want to show you something."

Stonewall agreed and they made their way to the 'lift. There were few other clones about right now; it was that odd time between duty rotations when most men were either training or getting some much needed R and R. Once the doors closed, Rex entered the level for Medbay Forn and the 'lift began to move.

Neither he nor Stonewall spoke for a moment until Rex glanced at the former captain. "Are your men on Aruna?"

"Trax and Weave remained behind. Crest and Milo came with us."

Despite everything, Rex felt a half-smile creep to his face. "How is Traxis?"

"Stubborn and belligerent."

"So, same as ever?"

"Very much," Stonewall said with a chuckle. "But he's a good  _vod."_

Trax hadn't been under Rex's command in a long time, but they were bound by more than Torrent Company. He nodded and watched the numbers on the 'lift panel stream by. "I'm glad to hear he's still kicking," he said after a beat. "Too many brothers have fallen."

Stonewall ducked his head. "I know."

"Then," Rex went on, "there are those men who are on the brink of falling. One wrong step, or one push, and they'll be lost, too."

"What are you getting at?"

Rex was silent. The 'lift dinged and he slanted Stonewall a knowing look before stepping into the corridor. Neither man spoke as Rex led the way through the halls, until they reached Medbay Forn. It was one of the smaller medbays, generally only used for men who needed to be quarantined. Other than Fox's medic, no other Guard member had clearance to enter the room. It was for the best. The less people who knew Fives was here, the better.

Once Rex punched in the code, the door slid open and Stonewall's breath caught. Frowning, Rex glanced over at the former captain. "What is it?"

But Stonewall ignored him and hurried toward the room's only occupied bacta tank. After ensuring the door was locked behind them, Rex followed. Nothing had changed. The former captain studied the clone within the blue liquid; again, his expression took on that eerie, distant look, like his mind was light years away.

A dozen times, Rex opened his mouth to ask what the kriff Stonewall was doing, but the other man's expression reminded him of a Jedi doing their Jedi-thing, so he kept his questions behind his teeth. Best not disturb a Force-user. That, like so much instinct, was ingrained within his cells.

At last Stonewall exhaled and shook his head slowly, as if trying to clear it. "Who is he?"

"An ARC trooper named Fives."

"One of yours?"

"He started that way." Rex put his hand to the glass; had he been able to reach through the tank, Fives' fingers would have been close enough to touch. "I knew him when he was a shiny."

"What's his damage?"

Rex clenched his hand but kept it pressed against the glass. He leaned close enough for his breath to mar the gleaming surface. "Minimal. He took a stun bolt to the chest, and there are some strange toxins in his blood. He should be back to rights within a few hours."

"He's terrified." Stonewall's next words were quiet. "So are you."

"He's not safe here," Rex replied, equally as quiet.

"Why?"

The words still wouldn't come. Cold swam through Rex's veins, filling him from the inside out with chilling fear. "You have to take him with you."

Stonewall had been regarding Fives; at this, his head swiveled to face Rex. "Are–"

" _Now_ ," Rex broke in. "It has to be now. He can't wait another moment. It's not safe for him here. I don't know if it's safe for any of us."

He pulled his hand back and stepped to the tank's controls. He was no medic, but he'd watched Coric and Kix bring enough men out of bacta to manage it on his own. As the bacta began to drain into the reservoir, he glanced at Stonewall again. "It's too much for me to explain right now. You'll have to get it out of him, somehow. If you can get anything coherent out of him.  _Di'kut_ 's been rambling–"

The words broke off as his throat tightened, and he bit his tongue to keep back the burning behind his eyes. Blinking fast, Rex turned back to the control panel. Within a few minutes, the bacta had drained and the tank's sides were lowering, too slowly for Rex's liking, and he could not help but shoot hasty glances over his shoulder for fear of the Chancellor himself striding through the medbay door.

Throughout all of this, Stonewall was silent. When the tank's sides had vanished into the base, both men worked at the straps around the ARC trooper, careful to support Fives so he wouldn't stagger once the harness was gone. Surely it was Rex's imagination, but his brother felt lighter than before. Perhaps it was the lack of armor – or any sort of clothing.

"This is bigger," Fives groaned, head lolling onto Rex's shoulder. "The mission...the nightmare.  _Vod,_ I only wanted–"

" _Ku'ur_ ," Rex hissed as he gripped his brother close. "Be quiet,  _vod_. You're going to be okay. I promise. Just stay calm."

But Fives was an ARC trooper, and even in this weakened state he was a force to be reckoned with. One wrench of his body and he was free of both Rex and Stonewall's grasps, staggering for the door. Swearing, Rex lunged for his brother, snatching him back while ducking to avoid a glancing blow.  _Fekking hell, man,_ he thought, gritting his teeth.  _I'm on_ your  _side._

Before Rex could pull a sedative from his medkit, Stonewall placed his hand on Fives' shoulder, and said, calmly and clearly, "You heard your captain,  _vod._ Stay calm."

It was as if someone had flipped a switch. Fives relaxed into Rex's arms, quickly enough that Rex nearly dropped him to the gleaming floor out of surprise. Only by virtue of his well-honed instincts did he catch the ARC trooper; Stonewall was at his side a beat later, and together they got Fives away from the tank and steered him to a nearby biobed. It took both Rex and Stonewall a few minutes to locate a spare set of fatigues and dress the ARC trooper, who lay upon the bed, face slack with sleep.

At last Fives was clothed. Rex braced his palms against the biobed and looked at Stonewall. "You have to take him with you," he said again. "I can make it an order."

Stonewall did not pull his gaze from Fives' sleeping form. "I'm not in the GAR, Rex. You can't order me to do anything."

"His life depends on it. Don't you understand?"

"No," Stonewall said, frowning. "I don't. But I–"

Rex's jaw tightened as adrenaline danced wildly through his veins. "You owe me," he heard himself growl. "After Argente. After what you did to my men... Fives was  _one_ of those men. You owe both of us."

Stonewall's eyes widened and he drew himself up for one moment, fists clenching, and Rex almost welcomed the prospect of a fight...

But then Stonewall's body relaxed and his shoulders sank. "I do owe you," he said quietly. "I was trying to say that I don't  _have_  to understand exactly what's happening to Fives right now. I understand enough. A brother needs my help." His face smoothed and he placed a hand on Rex's shoulder. "I'll keep him safe."

The adrenaline in Rex's system evaporated, leaving him cold and dull, and he leaned his weight on Fives' biobed. "Thank you."

* * *

Rex lost another brother that day, but not to death. After gathering Fives' kit, Stonewall used some Force-trick to shield both himself and Fives, allowing them to slip out of the Guard barracks undetected; it was a trick Rex had seen General Halcyon perform before, what felt like a lifetime ago. He was too exhausted to be in awe.

Just like that, Fives was gone. But safe. Rex watched the empty air at the entrance to the Guard barracks and savored that one less weight upon his heart.

In the grand symphony of the galaxy, one clone's life wasn't even a note. But to Rex, it was a song worth singing.

* * *

A/N: One of the best parts of writing an AU fic is "fixing" stuff like Fives' story. When I saw Season Six, I knew I  _had_ to find a way to tie his arc into  _Fearless._

Additionally, I hadn't planned on this being an entire Rex chapter, but he was rather insistent, and I couldn't refuse. ;) Rather than try to tie in his arc in  _Fearless_  with his arc in my Rex duology, (which I do consider part of my fanon), I tried to leave it kind of vague. I don't 'ship him and Ahsoka, but you can read that into the text if you choose.

FYI, Traxis was part of the original assault team for the Battle of Teth. His experience there is featured in my vignette collection,  _Born To Die._

One last thing: Here's another shameless plug for my original novel, which features Kali, Stonewall and Milo in a fantasy setting. Please read and vote for the story by  **October 1st** , as I'm hoping to win this contest on Inkitt. Check out [_Catalyst Moon: Incursion_](http://www.inkitt.com/stories/22428) and let me know what you think! :) Thank you!


	55. Chapter Fifty-Four

Note: This chapter references events from the fic,  _Better._

Lyrics: ["Let Love Move Me," by Donna The Buffalo, from Rockin' In the Weary Land.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jUNC3BNTMhg&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp&index=55)

* * *

**Chapter Fifty-Four**

_Let love rise between us,_

_Let love make the difference._

_Meanwhile..._

Once the door to her old quarters closed, Kali leaned against it with a sigh. It'd taken the better part of the afternoon, but she'd managed to say goodbye to all of the Temple Jedi she'd known – or at least was on friendly terms with. Save one.

Knowing Ben, he'd come to her. Eventually.

A brush with the Force informed her that Stonewall was still in the Guard barracks, so she busied herself with gathering the few items she'd left behind: old robes, some from her Padawan days, most tattered beyond repair; a collection of holobooks pilfered from the Temple Archives and forgotten once she'd finished reading them; endless musical recordings spread across holodisks and vids; an extra set of rather nice boots she'd forgotten about, which she set aside to take. The holobooks and music she stacked in the kitchenette, thinking to return them to Jocasta and hoping the Chief Archivist wouldn't hold a grudge. The old robes she considered keeping, but in the end shoved them down the incinerator chute.

She was trying to stabilize a wobbling stack of datapads when the chime to her quarters rang. Hands full, Kali called, "Come in," without glancing up.

And then Ben was there, at her side, grabbing the few 'pads that slipped from her hands, and together they placed them upon the kitchenette's counter. As he did, he glanced her way. "Always making a mess."

"Maybe, but I always clean them up."

Obi-Wan lifted a brow. "I was talking about me."

Kali chuckled and began to sift through the stack of 'pads; she selected one full of romance-holos she remembered reading as a girl. How long ago, it seemed now.

But some things were constant. She set the 'pad aside and reached for another. "Thank you for your help."

"You didn't need it," he said, selecting a few 'pads as well. "You were marvelous in there. Full of heresy," he added wryly, "but marvelous, nonetheless."

Kali wanted to smile, or at least feel gratified by the praise, but emotion caught thick in her throat and she shook her head. "I don't just mean today. You've always been a good friend to me."

"Ah." Blue eyes lifted, crinkling at the edges as he regarded her fondly. "You mean to encompass a lifetime of good deeds in a single sentence. How bold."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't be a  _di'kut._ "

He flashed her a teasing smile, though it faded when he took a deep breath and looked at the datapad in his grip. "You're really doing it, aren't you?"

"Ben–"

"I never thought I'd truly lose you." His forehead creased as it did when he was puzzled. "Not really. Even though we're not...romantically linked any longer, I always thought you'd be..."

He trailed off and shook his head, then nodded to her knee. "Your limp is gone."

Kali regarded him a moment before she set down the 'pads, pulled off her boot and rolled up her pants to show him the new scar on her knee. "I finally got a prosthetic. Honi put me under with morichro, so there was minimal danger to the baby. It's mostly healed now."

He knelt and examined the raised, pink skin. "Morichro? I wasn't aware it could be used for such a thing. Did it hurt?"

"A little. But the pain of dealing with it for twenty years was much worse than the week or so of pain following the surgery."

"A fair trade." He straightened and leaned against the kitchenette, abandoning all pretense of helping her organize the 'pads. "Why now?"

The answer was so simple. "It was time to be whole."

He nodded slowly, then shot her a lifted brow. "Your sparring skills have improved, I take it?"

Kali grinned and patted the twin sabers at her belt. "I can hold my own. Would you like to give it a go?"

"Another time," he said, chuckling. "For now, I'll take your word for it. Though," he added thoughtfully, "two sabers is quite a step up from where you were."

She'd long since accepted her less-than-stellar combat skills, so this was not a slight. But sorrow tugged at her heart and she turned her attention back to the stack of 'pads. "It's only temporary. I'm hoping Stonewall will accept one of them, though..."

The sorrow swelled to full-on grief and a sob caught in her chest. She dropped the 'pad and braced her arms against the kitchenette counter, trying to collect herself. A warm hand rested on her upper back, joined by a soothing brush of Force-energy that was as familiar as its bearer.

Sniffing, Kali swiped at her eyes. "These kriffing hormones," she said by way of an apology. "They've gotten more unpredictable lately. Poor Stone had no idea what he was coming back to..."

"You said he found you?"

It was a clear attempt to change the subject, and she welcomed it. After a deep, steadying breath she launched into the story. How she'd sensed her husband through the Force, though his energy was dark and his mind was a stranger to her. How they'd faced one another in true combat for the first time since they'd met two years ago. How she'd been so afraid to do the right thing.

"You dropped your weapon?" Shock rippled from Obi-Wan's careful control, and his eyes were round. "You surrendered?"

"There was no other way. He was a stranger to me in that moment, but beneath all of it – the anger and the fear – he was still  _Stonewall._ He was still the man I loved. I couldn't fight him."

Obi-Wan shook his head. "He would have killed you – and your child. You had to act in self-defense." He sighed heavily. "It is a necessary evil, sometimes."

He was a Jedi Master, and the finest negotiator the Order had known in a millennium, but Kali knew she was right – about this, at least. "Fighting each other only made things worse. I had to break him out of his trance. I had to get him to open his eyes and  _see_ me."

Silence stretched between them for several, too-long moments, until he sighed again. "Well, I'm glad you were right."

"You and me both." The chime at her door sounded; Kali had been so immersed in her conversation with Obi-Wan that she'd not noticed the familiar presence. She sent a pulse of Force-energy and the door slid open, and smiled at her former Padawan. "I was going to find you and Zara before I left."

Honi glanced between her and Obi-Wan, and frowned. "I'm interrupting."

"Not in the least," Obi-Wan assured her. "Please, come in."

Still, Honi hesitated, but Kali urged her inside the room with a wave of her hand. "It's fine, Honi. Besides, even if you were interrupting, you're always welcome where I am. You know that."

The copper-haired woman entered, but slowly, and her Force-presence shivered with apprehension. Honi took a deep breath and met Kali's eyes. "I wanted to say goodbye."

Kali did her best to keep a straight face. "Why?"

"Because..." Honi's brows drew together and she scowled, suddenly a teenager again. "You're teasing me again, aren't you?"

"I would  _never_  do such a thing," Kali said primly. "I'm shocked you'd even suggest it."

Honi rolled her eyes and looked at Obi-Wan, who smoothed out his growing beard. "Some things never change," she said dryly.

He chuckled. "For the better."

"Honi, I'm serious," Kali said, leaning against the kitchenette counter. "Why do you want to say goodbye?"

"Because you're leaving! Because Force knows when we'll see each other again. Because..." Honi trailed off and ducked her head, toying with the sleeves of her tunic. "Because I'll miss you."

Of all the people Kali had met in her life, Honi Tallis was perhaps the only one who could so perfectly encapsulate both an uncertain teenager and the ideal Jedi Knight. Even though she was a woman grown, a part of Honi, at least in Kali's eyes, would always be that scrawny, terrified-but-refusing-to-show-it fifteen-year-old girl.

But she wasn't. She was a full-fledged Knight, and a fantastic one, and Kali's heart swelled with pride when she met Honi's gaze again. So she rested her hands on Honi's slender shoulders. "I'll miss you too, but this isn't goodbye."

"Isn't it?"

Kali shook her head. "We will meet again, probably much sooner than you'd like. Consider this a...'see you later.'"

Honi frowned. "It sounds a bit ominous when you say it like that."

"After all," Kali continued as if she'd not heard, "I'm planning on keeping you in the loop with the whole pregnancy-thing. And," she could not resist adding, "I'm sure Weave will want to correspond with you during his work with the nanogene droids."

Color flushed through Honi's cheeks and she looked away. "Er...I suppose that would be acceptable..."

Amusement flickered from Obi-Wan's direction, though there was also a trace of sadness; it was so faint it might have been Kali's imagination, and it faded almost as quickly as it had come.

After a moment, Honi seemed to collect herself, and met Kali's eyes; all traces of uncertainty and embarrassment had fallen away. "Please take care of yourself."

"I intend to." Kali squeezed her shoulders, then embraced her. "Thank you for forcing yourself on this insane mission. Thank you for looking out for me."

To her credit, Honi didn't tense beneath Kali's touch as she used to. Instead, she lifted one hand and patted Kali's back. "Thank you as well."

"For what?" Kali asked as she released her former student.

Honi had a brilliant smile – when she chose to use it. She did so, now. "For putting up with me."

"It's no hardship," Kali assured her, smiling back. "You're quite lovable, in your own way. Just...remember this feeling the next time you get angry with Zara."

Honi's smile softened, but it was no less dazzling. "I should get back to her. We both have a great deal of work to catch up on. You'll comm me later? Or shall I comm you?"

"I'll let you know once we get back to Aruna."

"Thank you." Honi smoothed out her tunic and gave a perfect, formal bow. "May the Force be with you, Kali."

"You too, Honi. Stay out of trouble. Tell Zara I said 'see you later.'"

Honi rolled her eyes even as she bowed again. "May the Force be with you, Master Kenobi."

"You as well, Honi," he replied quietly.

Nodding, Honi cast one last look at Kali before slipping out of the room. A strange silence filled the space between herself and Obi-Wan, though Kali could not put her finger on what it was, exactly. Obi-Wan's gaze had followed Honi out the door; now, his expression was distant, thoughtful, though of course his Force-presence was seaglass-smooth.

At last he blinked and gave her a tight smile. "She's a credit to your training."

"I tried," Kali said, turning back to the datapads. "Speaking of former Padawans, how is Anakin? I can't remember if I asked you, before."

"He's well."

"Ahsoka's leaving must be difficult for him," Kali said gently.

A quick, indrawn breath was his only response at first, until, "Yes. Well, you know how he is."

Obi-Wan didn't elaborate as he stacked the final few 'pads, and the clipped words were a clear signal he didn't wish to discuss the matter any longer. Perhaps she should have questioned him further, but it'd been a long day and the sun was only just starting to set. Pregnancy made her more tired than usual, or so she told herself.

So she nodded and changed the subject, busying herself with gathering the belongings she intended on taking. "How was the Council after Stone and I left?"

"They're not happy. But there isn't much that can be done. You've made your choice."

His voice was calm, of course, but she thought she detected another hint of disquiet. "I have. But I meant what I said. I am sorry for putting them in the position I did. It's just..."

Kriff, why was it so hard to explain, sometimes? Had she acted selfishly? Of course, she had at first, on Coraux, but after... She'd tried to set things right. And they were – to a degree. But still, she felt unfinished. Maybe, with time, that would change.  _Maybe_ , she thought wryly,  _the dust just has to settle._

He placed his palm over her hand, covering it, warming it, and met her eyes. "You thought you had no other option."

"Even if I'd not gotten pregnant, even if Stonewall and I hadn't gotten married, even if he'd not been sent away...I would still love him." She stared at their hands without really seeing either. "The Council would still not think I was a proper Jedi."

"They would be wrong." His voice was uncommonly soft.

Heat pricked at her eyes and she shook her head to keep the tears at bay. "You haven't lost me, Ben. You never will, not if I have anything to say about it."

He gave her a faint smile that did not reach his eyes. "So it's to be 'see you later' for us, too?"

"Is that such a bad thing?"

"No." He sighed and ran a hand through his neat hair. "Just different."

Kali managed to slant him a teasing grin. "What's that old saying of Qui-Gon's? 'The only constant is change.'"

The mention of his old Master made Obi-Wan smile fondly. "I know. And I wish you nothing but good things."

"You as well, Ben."

He hesitated then gave a deliberate look at her belly. "May I?"

In response, she lifted her shirt to expose bare skin and the faint swell that grew more prominent each day; he placed a warm hand upon her and reached out with the Force. It was obvious the moment he touched her son's presence, for his breath caught and both his and the baby's Force-presences shimmered brightly in meeting. Obi-Wan seemed to marvel, remaining still for a few moments, before he withdrew his hand and regarded her with wide eyes.

"He's beautiful."

"I know," she said proudly. "He's strong, too. Like his dad."

"And his mother."

She could not help her own flush, and turned her attention to pulling the remaining few items together. Once she was ready to go, he took her hand in his and squeezed once. "May the Force be with you, Kalinda."

"And you." She tugged his tunic to get him to bend down, and kissed his cheek. "I'll see you later, Ben."

* * *

_Meanwhile..._

It was a long journey to the spaceport.

Fives was a heavy fellow – damn ARCs  _always_  threw their weight around – and Stonewall was reluctant to call Crest or Milo for help after Rex had been so frightened of something happening to Fives. No telling who'd be listening in on any comm frequencies. Stonewall also wasn't feeling up to par after his recent rehabilitation, but he managed to lug the ARC across the city. Luckily the Eastport Docking Facility was easily accessible via public transport, which Stonewall used without hesitation. The Force kept him and Fives shielded the entire time, too.

Which was a good thing, because the poor guy was a wreck. Once Stonewall managed to get them aboard an airbus, Fives had come out of his haze and started calling for Rex; only through a timely intervention of calming Force-energy did Stonewall avoid unwanted attention, Force-shield or no. Even so, there were a few too many curious glances in his and Fives' direction, so they disembarked at the next stop and hoofed it the rest of the way to the EDF.

Of course, keeping Fives calm, bolstering the additional weight  _and_ keeping both of them shielded drained Stonewall's energy, such that he was ready to collapse by the time they were within sight of the  _Sahbr'a._ His legs, back and head ached fiercely, and his hand shook as he comm'd the ship. Hopefully Mi or Crest had returned; he was too exhausted to try and sense either man.

His heart lifted when Crest answered. "Hey,  _vod._ What's up? Please tell me we're ready to bang out."

"I need to board, undetected." Stonewall and Fives stood in the shelter of the ship's landing struts; the hangar was bustling, but no one could see either clone. "We have cover now, but I'll need your help the second we're in."

Crest's voice belied his curiosity. "'We?' Is Kali with you?"

"No. I've got a new patient for the RC."

There was a crackle of static as Crest replied. "Copy that,  _vod_. Hatch is unlocked. Me and Mi will be standing by."

The transmission ended and Stonewall exhaled at the audible  _clang_ from the ship's hatch. He hefted Fives, ensuring the ARC's hand was around his shoulders. "Come on,  _vod,_ " he murmured as he guided them both up the ramp. "We're almost there. You're almost safe."

In response, Fives groaned, and said a name Stonewall did not recognize. Or at least, he thought it was a name. Coming from a clone, the word "echo" was probably the name of a brother.

The moment he and Fives were inside, his brothers were waiting. Stonewall released the Force-shield, Milo hit the hatch control panel and Crest sidled under Fives' other shoulder. Thank the Force; only when his brother helped take the weight did Stonewall's knees buckle, though he caught himself on the bulkhead and did not drop Fives.

"Cabin," Stonewall gasped, jerking his chin in the direction of the ship's single, small room. Crest nodded and they began to stumble toward the door, though Fives' face contorted as renewed fear prickled around him.

"Here, let me help," Milo said, and Stonewall was gently urged out of the way as Mi took his place. Unlike Crest and Stonewall, Milo only wore his fatigues, which would have made Stonewall curious had he not been dead on his feet.

Kriff, it was a relief to be free of that weight, but Stonewall was unwilling to rest yet. He helped his brothers maneuver the ARC onto one of the bunks. The cabin was sparsely furnished, with only two small bunks and a single window, though there was an odd bundle of fabric on the second bunk.

Once Fives was prone, he seemed a little more coherent. His eyes, still a bit glazed, darted between the three clones and landed on Stonewall. "Where's...Rex?"

"Back at the base. He wanted me to get you off Corrie as soon as possible."

Fives regarded Stonewall a moment, brows drawn. "Where are you taking me?"

"Aruna," Milo replied brightly.

The ARC's gaze flickered to Milo, but returned to Stonewall. The fear he'd emanated back at the barracks swelled, nearly stinging Stonewall's eyes with the intensity as Fives struggled to an upright position. "Need...to comm Rex. Too much..."

"No,  _vod,_ " Stonewall said, placing a hand on Fives' forearm. "Not right now. Transmissions aren't safe on Coruscant. Rex asked me to take you with us."

Fives jerked his arm away. "That's not true."

"You're right." Stonewall rested his hands on the bunk's edge, and pitched his voice to be calm. "Rex didn't  _ask_. He outright coerced me into it, after threatening to order me and calling you a  _di'kut._ "

A slow smile broke across Fives' face. "Now,  _that_  sounds like Rex." He sighed and leaned back into the pillow, his eyes drifting shut "Okay. I'll behave. But I want to comm him as soon as I can."

"Copy that," Stonewall said. "But rest, for now. You're safe here. You're with brothers." Fives nodded once, and was asleep within moments.

Stonewall, Milo and Crest heaved a collective sigh, and slipped to the door, though none of them stepped out of the cabin. "What's the deal with our new passenger?" Crest asked softly.

"He's an ARC trooper from the 501st. One of Rex's men." Stonewall watched the steady rise and fall of Fives' chest; the poor guy was out cold, heedless of the other clones' hushed conversation. "Apparently his life is in danger on Corrie. I don't have any more details," he added when Crest opened his mouth again. "Just that he needed help."

Crest nodded. "Well, he's landed in the right place. As soon as Kali's back, we'll bang out."

A soft squeak emanated from the spare bunk, and Stonewall frowned. He'd not sensed another presence aboard the vessel; maybe he was more tired than he realized. "What's that?"

Crest and Milo exchanged looks, and Crest thumbed the direction of the cockpit. "I'll just go prep the engines..."

The bald clone bolted out of the room, leaving Stonewall and Milo, who shuffled his feet beneath Stonewall's look. "He's just a baby," the younger clone said by way of explanation. "And his mother was dead. I couldn't leave _him_  to die, too."

 _Kriffing hell, he found a kid, somewhere_. Stonewall's gut twisted but he tried to keep his voice calm. "Who's just a baby?"

In response, Milo knelt beside the spare bunk and drew back what Stonewall now realized was a spare set of fatigues, revealing...

"He's an anooba," Milo said as he rubbed the pup's tufted ears. "Only about six weeks old, from what I could tell on the HoloNet."

It was a tiny creature, smaller than a clone's forearm in length and much too skinny – or so it seemed, anyway. Stonewall had no clue how anooba pups were supposed to look; but this one's ribs were visible through his fur, and his eyes were squeezed shut as he buried his nose in Milo's arm. Milo shifted the pup into his lap and looked at Stonewall. "He didn't like my armor; I thought it probably wasn't too comfy to lay on, either. Can I keep him?"

"It's not really up to me, Mi," Stonewall said with a shrug. "But as long as you can take care of him, I don't see why not."

A smile broke across Milo's face and he beamed down at the tiny pup. "Hear that, buddy? Welcome to Shadow Squad."

It'd been a long effing day, but this moment made it a little less unbearable. Stonewall chuckled. "What's his name?"

"He doesn't have one yet," Milo said absently, stroking the pup's ears. "Hey, do you know anything about Antarian Rangers?"

"I don't, but Kali's worked with them in the past. Why?"

"I met one when I found him." Milo was quiet a moment, then glanced at Fives. "I guess this is the day for helping out folks in trouble."

"I guess so." Stonewall stood by Fives' bunk once more, assessing the other man with the Force. Currents of nervous energy swirled around him, occasionally sharpening into fear, and he frowned even in his sleep.

_Rex was right. I hurt him. I hurt other clones. And for what?_

Because he was foolish. Because he had been blind. Because he'd not been able to control his abilities, to prevent them from being found out by  _someone,_ he'd been turned into a monster. And even if he never touched a weapon again, Stonewall knew he'd still be a killer. Shame coursed through him at the thought; his abilities had brought nothing but hurt and suffering, even to those on the periphery of his existence.

He was broken out of his self-flagellation by Milo's voice. "Did you use the Force to get here without anyone seeing you?"

"Yeah."

The younger clone had withdrawn a cleaning wipe from somewhere and gently rubbed the anooba pup's fur. "That can't have been easy. He's lucky you could help him."

Stonewall's entire body was heavy, and he thought he was going to fall asleep where he stood. He wanted to reach out to Kali, but he was too tired to manage anything more than a light brush against her awareness. She seemed closer, which was good. It meant they could leave this blasted world soon.

The pup squirmed in Milo's grip, clearly less-than-thrilled with the impromptu bath, but Milo held him firm. Still, though, there was a distant expression in his eyes, and after a moment he looked at Stonewall. "I can't imagine what it's like to really have the Force. I got a taste of it before, on Kamino, when you called me, but I have a feeling that's not the same thing."

"It's...complicated." Stonewall rubbed his forehead. "I'm used to it, I guess, but it's still..."

"Weird?"

There was no censure in Milo's voice. Only warmth and a bit of curiosity. Stonewall leaned against the top of Fives' bunk and sighed. "Yeah. Weird.  _Very_ much so, at times."

Milo nodded, then looked back at the pup. "Did Kali tell you that I used the Force to call her? I don't remember it, but apparently I did. Called our  _vode_ , too, though I don't remember that, either."

This, he'd not heard. Some of Stonewall's exhaustion fell away, replaced by incredulity. "What do you mean, 'called?'"

Milo didn't reply right away, only murmured to the pup in Mando'a as he ran the wipe along its underside. At last he frowned and shrugged. "I dunno. Like I said, I don't even remember doing it. But according to Kali I managed to reach her through the Force, like you can." His brows knit and he looked up at Stonewall. "Do you reckon you...passed that ability on to me, when you shared your memories?"

Speech was a long time in coming. Stonewall stared at his younger brother, trying to wrap his mind around what he'd just learned. Milo had used the Force to call Kali. "I...don't know," he managed at last. "I had no idea that would happen..."

"Me either. And I guess it was only that one time? I'm not Force-sensitive." By now, the wipe was covered in dirt. Milo set it to one side and withdrew another from a packet by his hip. This one he skimmed around the pup's ears and muzzle, carefully cleaning away any dirt near its nostrils. By now, the pup had stopped squeaking in protest and relaxed in Milo's arms. "Well, whatever I did, I'm glad it worked when we needed it to. Are they all back?"

Stonewall blinked at him. "What?"

"Your memories."

"Oh." A few deep breaths allowed Stonewall to peer past the veil of exhaustion and consider the blank spots in his mind. "Mostly. I hope the rest will trickle back as time passes."

Milo shuddered. The pup peered up at him through one eye and gave a quiet whine, so Milo smiled fondly at the creature and stroked its nose. "Sorry about that, boy. Didn't mean to bother you."

Kriff, he was still so young sometimes, but Mi had most definitely outgrown any semblance of "shiny." This was more apparent when he glanced back up at Stonewall and said, "I'd do it again, if it meant helping you. And not just you. If any of our brothers needed my help, in any way, I'd do it. And even if you'd killed me," he added casually, looking back at the pup, "it would've been worth it, if it meant your kid would get to have a dad, eventually."

Stonewall had no response. There was none.

A faint clank sounded from the direction of the ship's midsection, and the anooba pup's ears lifted as it growled softly. Stonewall extended his senses and found the warm, bright presence of his wife. Moments after the hatch closed again, he and Milo met her in the corridor outside the cabin. A rucksack was slung over one shoulder and she carried a rather nice pair of boots.

"We're all here, so I asked Crest to get us into atmo," she said by way of greeting. Her eyes darted between the cabin door and the pup in Milo's arms. "Unless...we have more passengers on the way?"

"No more," Stonewall told her. "Mi, will you make sure Crest gets us to hyperspace okay?"

"Sure." Pup tucked under one arm, Milo glanced at Kali. "I haven't come up with a name yet," he said, nodding to the pup. "But Stonewall said I could keep him if I take care of him."

"Um..." She bit back a chuckle and nodded solemnly. "That sounds good to me, Mi."

He flashed her a grin. "Good." He made for the cockpit, but paused. "Oh! Remind me to ask you about Antarian Rangers."

"Will do," she said as he slipped off. When he'd gone, she looked at Stonewall again. "Was that an anooba?"

"Yeah. Force knows where he found it."

Kali laughed softly. "I think it's sweet. He's always wanted a pet."

The ship's engines began to hum, vibrating the bulkhead and floor, and Stonewall relaxed a fraction. They were almost done with this world. Thank the Force, because he wasn't sure how much longer he could handle this mission. Kali, having sensed the new presence, indicated the cabin curiously, so they entered on silent steps. Stonewall sat heavily at the edge of the spare bunk and leaned his elbows on his knees, watching Fives.

Kali set her bag down and slid next to him, rubbing his back as she, too, considered the ARC trooper. "Friend of yours?" After Stonewall explained the situation, she nodded slowly, forehead creased in thought. "Poor guy. I can sense how afraid he is. You said Rex was afraid, too?"

"More so, maybe."

"It's hard to imagine. He always seemed so...stoic." Kali considered Fives a bit longer then snapped her fingers. "I  _have_  met him. Remember that mission with Chopper? The MagnaDroids?"

"MagnaGuards," Stonewall corrected absently. "And yes. You met Fives on the  _Resolute_?"

She nodded. "He was a friend of Chopper's, I believe. Him and a fellow named Echo. Did Rex mention anyone named Echo?"

"No." Stonewall rubbed his forehead. Her touch was warm and welcoming, but fatigue had turned his bones to lead, and he wanted nothing more than to curl up with her and sleep the rest of the way back to Aruna.

But Fives shifted and murmured something Stonewall couldn't catch, and he was reminded of his duty.

"Can you help me keep him calm?" he asked his wife, glancing over. "He was in a bad way back at the Guard barracks, and I'm worried he'll get that way again."

Kali studied the ARC trooper a moment, then shook her head. "He's fine. Still a bit scared, but resting well." Her hand drifted up to Stonewall's cheek, where it smoothed across his skin. "It will be alright."

"But, if I go to sleep, he might..." He couldn't finish the thought; the words got stuck in his throat.

"Might what?" Her voice was gentle.

He shook his head rapidly. "Might hurt himself. Fall out of his bunk or something."

"I'm sure he's had worse. He  _is_ an ARC trooper."

Her voice was wry, but Stonewall was not in the mood for jokes. He sat up and rubbed his eyes again, hoping to force the exhaustion back. "That's not the point. He was put into my care, and I have to help him. I have to keep him safe."

"You are," she said, wrapping his hand in both of hers. "Stonewall, you're doing everything you can for him. But right now, you need to rest, too."

"But–"

"Remember when I asked you to allow yourself to come back, all the way?"

He frowned. "How is that relevant now?"

Kali sat up and placed her hands in her lap, suddenly very much the picture of an ideal Jedi. "You're punishing yourself. Don't deny it," she added when he opened his mouth. "You're punishing yourself for what you did while you were gone. You must let go of the past and focus on the present."

"I hurt him. I fekked up one of Rex's ops." Stonewall looked back at the ARC trooper and shook his head. "Rex was right. I owe both of them."

"Maybe you did hurt him. Maybe you do owe them something. But you still have to live with the person you've become. Will punishing yourself truly accomplish that end? Or will you just get mired in guilt and shame until you can't see a way out, and not be able to help anyone?"

His eyes burned by the time she finished her speech, and he swiped at them, trying not to look anywhere. "I'm sorry," he managed. "I know you want me to be strong. I'm trying..."

A soft hand on his cheek urged his gaze to hers. "No, you're  _doing_. You always do your best, even when it hurts. Even when you think you'll fail." She smiled. "It's one of the many reasons I love you."

An accompanying brush of her Force-energy to his helped him relax a little more, and he nodded. "I love you, too."

She brushed her thumb against his lips before kissing him gently. "Get some rest, Stone. He'll be fine."

As she spoke, she eased him down on the bunk, rubbing his shoulders and chest until he was lying prone. There was no point in fighting her, nor did he want to. Stonewall allowed her warmth to flood his body and mind, and gradually, his spirit. He closed his eyes and sank into the bunk's pillow, though a thought occurred to him in the last moment before sleep.

"Are you sure?"

Kali still sat beside him. The last thing he saw before sleep took him was her smile. "Positive. Everything's going to be alright."

* * *

_Earlier..._

And just like that, she was gone.  _No_ , Obi-Wan told himself as the door slid shut behind her.  _Not gone. Just...on another path._

The words felt hollow. Likely that was the result of his own emotional investment in the dark-haired woman. Logically, he knew the outcome of the situation was for the best – for everyone – and he should not cling to the emotional ties between himself and his friend. Better to release them into the Force. Sorrow would pass in time. It always did.

He glanced around the empty quarters. They were larger than his own room; before Kali had taken up with Shadow Squad, she'd been a permanent Temple resident, and so had been allotted a larger living space than those Jedi like himself or Anakin who were constantly on the move.

Anakin. Obi-Wan sighed and rubbed his forehead. There was another...situation that needed dealing with, but he was at a loss. The young man had his own emotional ties, and, as with everything about him, they were volatile. And he was still reeling from Ahsoka's absence...

Obi-Wan's legs moved before his brain registered the action. Within moments he'd stepped out of Kali's quarters and headed to the nearest turbolift. Only when he entered the code that would take him to Anakin's floor did he understand what he was doing, though it did not sit entirely comfortably upon his consciousness. This intention was rather like putting on a new pair of boots; a little stiff, but with time – he hoped – it'd feel right.

Even before he reached Anakin's room, the younger man's distress was apparent. The Force sang out hurt and grief and anger, a clarion call that should have made  _Master Kenobi_ swoop in and call for discipline, for orderly thoughts.  _There is no emotion; there is peace._

That was a lie.  _But perhaps_ , Obi-Wan thought as he activated the door-chime,  _the two can be reconciled._

The door slid open. Save for the last shafts of daylight slipping through the blinds, Anakin's room was dark. He was illuminated, though barely, and his eyes glittered like shards of broken glass. "What?"

"I'd like to speak with you," Obi-Wan said, folding his hands before him.

To Anakin's credit, his expression did not reveal his irritation. "Now's not a great time."

"It will just take a moment." Without waiting for an answer, Obi-Wan slipped inside. The small room was as he remembered: cluttered with posters and models of ships. It was as if no time had passed since Anakin had been that young boy, wide-eyed, fresh from Tatooine. Perhaps a part of him would always remain that way.

Anakin exhaled and shut the door behind his former Master, but did not approach. He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. "If any conversation with you ever 'just takes a moment,' then I'll hand in my lightsaber."

A prickle of annoyance tugged at Obi-Wan, but he set it aside and faced his former Padawan. "I thought you'd want to know that Kali has joined the Altisian Jedi."

Anakin's eyes widened and his arms fell to his sides. "Are you serious?" When Obi-Wan nodded, he ran a hand through his unkempt hair. "Wow. I didn't think about them, but I guess it makes sense."

"They are a viable option for someone in her...position," Obi-Wan agreed. "Though Master Yoda feels differently."

Anakin rolled his eyes, but his expression turned thoughtful almost immediately. "Kali should be happy with the Altisians. I wonder if..."

He did not finish the thought. Ahsoka's absence was a physical thing, too large to be seen all at once, and Obi-Wan still did not quite know what to say. Or, rather, how to say it. So he continued on his previous trajectory. "I'm glad for Kali. She's been unhappy in the Order for a long time, though I'm afraid I never quite understood why until recently."

"What do you mean?"

Obi-Wan moved to the slotted window and watched the twinkling lights of the city-planet. "She has always struggled with attachments. Starting with her father, who was her first Master and died when she was a girl, and, most recently," he paused, and said deliberately, "her husband."

The room's silence thickened, so intense it roared in Obi-Wan's ears. He knew Anakin's breath had caught, though the younger man said nothing. Obi-Wan continued. "I didn't understand, let alone approve of, any of this when she first told me – months ago. My experience has been so different than hers; I loved Qui-Gon, but when he died, I was able to move on. But her father's death clung to her every day for over two decades.

"From what I can tell, it took losing her husband to truly make her understand that she'd been holding onto that old grief and letting it shape who she was. But now," he smiled fondly, though the sorrow had not yet faded, "I think she's finally healing."

Anakin's voice slunk low and rough from the darkness. "What makes you think that?"

"You should have seen her before the Council. I have never seen her act..." He sighed. "So much like a Jedi. Though she was pregnant and married, she was still a Jedi. And I think," he met Anakin's eyes at last, "I think I may have judged her too harshly, in the past."

The Force swirled around Anakin like a cloak caught in the wind, alternately clinging to and rippling outward with each flurry of emotion. "Her husband...?"

"Captain Stonewall."

"He's dead?"

"No." Obi-Wan frowned. "Well, not any more. There was some debate about that, apparently."

Anakin's brows knitted and he hooked his thumbs in his belt, glancing around the room in the manner he did when he was actually choosing his words. Obi-Wan stood by and allowed him time to collect his thoughts. At last, the younger Jedi looked up. "She's married, and still in the Order? They didn't kick her out?"

"They did not have the opportunity." Obi-Wan sighed. "Though, the mention of Altis did not work in Kali's favor. Yoda is not fond of Djinn–"

"But they  _would_ have kicked her out," Anakin broke in, scowling. "They're so kriffing quick to toss us aside."

"Not all of them," Obi-Wan said gently. "The Council is comprised of multiple members for a reason. True fairness can only come when many points of view are considered."

Anakin's scowl deepened and he turned away to pace the uncluttered space beside his bunk. "You don't think they would have kicked her out? After everything she did?"

"I wouldn't have let them." Obi-Wan placed a hand on Anakin's shoulder, halting him, and ensured their eyes met. "She is my dear friend, and a fine Jedi, and she deserves nothing less than everything I can give.

"There are Jedi like Krell, who let themselves be ruled by passion, which turns to hatred in their hearts and draws them into the darkness. Then there are Jedi like Kali,"  _and like you,_ he added silently, "who are guided by passion, but do not let themselves be ruled by it."

"What happens to them?" Anakin asked quietly. "What does passion turn into, for them?"

"Love."

Anakin looked out the window. "How?"

"From what I can tell, it is a choice." Neither man spoke for a moment, until Obi-Wan squeezed Anakin's shoulder. "I never understood any of that, before. I regret that now. I regret many things, but I hope to set them right."

He released Anakin's shoulder and stepped toward the door. When he looked back, Anakin's body was painted in shafts of light and shadow. "And I'm glad for Kali," he said in parting. "For she does not have to live a lie, any longer. It is what I would wish for anyone that I love."


	56. Chapter Fifty-Five

Lyrics:[ "Stopping The Love," by KT Tunstall, from  _Eye To The Telescope._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oa8zN4ElAFM)

* * *

**Chapter Fifty-Five**

_You've got me looking up,_

_Even when I'm falling down._

_You've got me crawling out of my skin._

_You've got me wondering why,_

_I am underneath this big ol' sky._

_Later..._

Thankfully, Traxis had never had cause to see the Rudral Palace detention cells prior to this day. They were pretty standard: thick, gray walls, energy shields, small cots. Nothing special about the cells, themselves. No, it was the blue-skinned figure seated within that held his attention.

Once the stun bolt had worn off, Cad Bane had not come quietly – or easily. A throbbing sensation on Trax's jaw was proof of that; Zero, Roth and Cobble each sported similar bruises from keeping the  _chakaar_ bound on the way to Rudral. But now he was locked away, cuffed and secured, intermittently glaring at his audience with those crimson eyes. Apparently, the tranquilizers the guards had given Bane had dulled the Duros' energy, but hadn't done much for his attitude.

The Arunai guards on either side of the cell remained expressionless, but Traxis glared back. It did nothing to ease the knot in his stomach, but it was satisfying to see Bane's scowl deepen in response.

"There you are." Sita Hari's voice was as soft as her footsteps as she came to stand beside Traxis. Her guard captain, Biswal, was at her side – naturally. "Kali just comm'd. She and the others are on their way back."

Traxis had received a hasty message from Stonewall to that effect, but while he should have been annoyed at his  _vod'_ s lack of communication, he had too many other places for his thoughts to dwell. So he nodded once. "Good to hear. Thank you, ma'am."

She regarded Bane; to her credit, when he turned his gaze to her, she didn't flinch. "He's not as intimidating as I expected."

"Don't be fooled," Traxis said, narrowing his eyes at the Duros. "Tranqs or not, he's a crafty  _shabuir_. Probably just biding his time."

"He will _not_ be escaping," Captain Biswal replied.

The white-haired Arunai man's kit was ornate and threaded with gold, and though he had the bearing of a fighter, he was a few years past his prime. A civilian, though not by much. "No, he kriffing won't," Traxis said. "Not if I have anything to say about it."

"It is not up to you. He is under  _our_ control now."

Traxis rolled his eyes.  _Kriffing officers. May as well call this one Captain Bishwag._

Sita cleared her throat and urged the two men toward the exit. "Do we know why he came here in the first place?"

The knot in Trax's stomach twisted. In the hours since he, Weave and Misfit Squad had arrived back at the palace, he'd had some time to think. That was rarely a good thing. It'd been impossible to talk on the speeder bike on the ride back, and Weave had insisted upon dunking both Trax and Ares in bacta almost the instant they set foot in the RC, so Traxis still did not know exactly what had caused the Twi'lek to wind up fighting Cad Bane in the Aruna highlands.

Well, he had an inkling, given the conversation between himself and Ares, but he didn't  _like_ it. "I think he was looking for Kali," Traxis said.

"And your Twi'lek pilot provided transportation?"

Sita was one helluva politician; her voice was without emotion, but Traxis still flinched at the implication. "No, they came in Bane's ship."

Though Traxis didn't fool himself that he knew Ares  _that_ well, he knew enough to understand that Ares Tabora without the  _Stark Raven_  spelled trouble. Likely, the trouble had something to do with Cad Bane, who had some kind of connection to Ares and his ship.

But Ares had wanted to know where Kali was. He'd lied about having intel about Stonewall, that much was also true. The euphoria that Traxis had felt upon seeing him again had faded in the last several hours, leaving him strangely hollow. What the fek was that kriffing tailhead up to?

"So he was conspiring with a known criminal," Biswal said darkly. "Aiding and abetting."

"You don't effing know that," Traxis shot back.

The guard captain glared. "You will refrain from using profanity in Speaker Hari's presence. Bounty hunter or not, our laws are such that  _any_  offworlder who travels here to commit a crime, like kidnapping, will be prosecuted."

Traxis opened his mouth to reply, but Sita stopped him with a light touch on his arm. "Captain Biswal is correct. However, the decision to prosecute must come from the person they were attempting to harm. In this case..."

"Kali." Traxis ran a hand through his hair. He didn't give a frag about Bane, but Ares...

His guts knotted further.  _He's a good guy. He just makes stupid, effing choices sometimes._ Would Kali understand? He thought so, but maybe not. Stonewall  _definitely_ would want Ares nailed to the wall for endangering his wife and unborn child. Hell, Traxis normally would've been right there with him, but his lips still tingled from the kiss – even hours after the fact – and despite all of this other  _osik,_ his stupid,  _di'kut_ heart floated at the memory of Ares' smile.

 _Fekking hell_ , he thought, scowling.  _I've been compromised._

Abruptly, he turned his back on Biswal and nodded to Sita. "I'll talk to Kali and get this mess sorted out."

"I have every confidence that she will see the matter fairly," she said, smiling softly. "She is a Jedi, after all."

It was a decent thing to say, and actually set Traxis at ease. He regarded Sita a little more critically; she obviously wasn't his cup of caf, but she seemed intelligent and kind, and she'd opened her home to him and his family when they needed it most. Baldy could do a lot worse. So he offered her a crisp salute. "Thank you for the information."

She dipped her body in a slight but graceful bow. Captain Bishwag glared. Traxis tried not to chuckle audibly as he hurried out of the detention area and made his way to the RC.

* * *

_Meanwhile..._

One thing no one ever mentioned about bacta was that it  _stank._ Once Ares' breathing mask was removed, the sickly-sweet stench coated his nostrils and turned his first few breaths into a coughing fit the moment he stepped out of the tank. If he'd not been supported by Weave and one of the other clones, he'd have collapsed to the polished floor.

Thankfully, he remained upright, and the two clones guided him to a nearby exam table. He was in a spacious room equipped with half a dozen bubbling bacta tanks and twice as many tables, in addition to a myriad of supply carts and other medical accouterments he did not immediately recognize. The walls were cool gray, and judging from the scent it was a recent paint job. In fact, the entire place  _felt_ new. Ares did not recall getting here, let alone where  _here_ was, though he knew he was on Aruna. Someone handed him a towel so he could retain some sense of modesty, though really all he wanted at this point was to inhale without smelling bacta.

When Ares managed to recover from the stench, he blinked up at the clone medic who stood beside him, studying a datapad. Without lifting his eyes, Weave said, "Bacta's not a nice smell, is it?"

"Not in the least," Ares replied between coughs.

"Well, it's effective." Weave glanced at the fellow beside him. "Cob, get his vitals, please." The other clone nodded and began to fasten a blood pressure monitor cuff around Ares' bicep, and Weave continued. "Aside from not liking the smell, are you in any discomfort?"

Careful not to disturb Cobble, Ares touched his nose; no pain, only a faint, tight feeling. Slightly annoying, but the increasing pressure on his arm was more so. He skimmed his side, where he'd been grazed, but the only remnant was a bright red splotch. Both  _lekku_ were a bit sore from being tugged so harshly, but it was a minor pain at this point.

"No discomfort," Ares said.

Weave made a notation on the 'pad and glanced at Cobble, who watched the monitor. After a moment, the pressure on Ares' arm released and Cobble presented the device to Weave, who made another notation while Cobble selected a thermometer.

Ares tilted his head to allow better access to his ear; the thermometer was cold, as was the room, and he drew the towel a little closer around his waist. "Thank you for your help," he said after a beat of silence. "Here...and before."

There was a clatter as Weave roughly set his 'pad upon a nearby worktable filled with hypos and other instruments. Cobble started, jabbing Ares' ear with the thermometer in the process. "Cobble?" he said to Weave.

The medic's lips pursed. "Sorry, Cob. It slipped."

"Cobble," the other clone said with a shrug, and thankfully withdrew the thermometer.

He handed it to Weave who recorded the information. "Thanks. Why don't you check on the tanks in Room Besh? The techs said they've finally worked out the filtration issues, but I have my doubts."

Cobble offered a neat salute and turned to leave. Rubbing his abused ear, Ares watched him go before glancing back at Trax's brother. "He still has not recovered from his ordeal?"

"I don't know if he'll ever speak normally."

Ares shivered. "Poor fellow. I did not have the, ah, pleasure of exploring Sector Nine personally, but I will never forget Trax's account of the place."

In response, Weave selected a hypo from the worktable and regarded Ares. His expression was impassive; how strange it was, that men who shared the same face could look so different. "Well, you're about back to normal from your own 'ordeal.' You might experience some slight discomfort from the broken nose, so I recommend a few days of rest or light duty until those bruises fade completely."

 _Light duty._  Whatever that meant for an unemployed person. Ares nodded. "Very well. Thank you for–"

He was cut off by the medic's calm but steady voice. "Furthermore, I want you to know that I don't really care  _why_ you came back, though if Cad Bane was involved, I've no doubt it was for some malicious purpose."

As he spoke, Weave casually rolled the hypo between his palms. Heat pricked across both  _lekku._ "That's not–"

" _All_ I care about," Weave continued as if Ares had not spoken, "is the well-being of my brothers. In your case, that means if you do anything to hurt Traxis – in any way..." He leaned closer, holding the hypo next to Ares' cheek, and pitched his voice to a deeper register. "You  _will_  regret it. I have an entire medical facility at my fingertips, and I doubt anyone would miss you. Is that clear?"

Neither the hypo nor the man wielding it touched Ares' skin, but his breath caught nonetheless. Silence filled what little space was between them until he found his voice. "I have no wish to hurt your brother, Weave."

The medic's light brown eyes narrowed a fraction. "Sometimes what we want and what we do are two different things."

How true that was. Ares took a deep, careful, breath. "I understand."

"Good." Weave drew back, set the hypo upon the worktable and picked up his datapad once more. "You probably want to wash off the smell of bacta. Showers are through there," he indicated a doorway at the side of the room, "and I'll have your clothing returned in a minute."

Ares nodded. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me," Weave replied as he started for the door. "I'm just doing my job. And those are all empty, by the way," he added, nodding to the hypos. "If you were going to get any funny ideas."

Before Ares could reply, the medic slipped out, and he was alone, once more. Sighing, Ares hopped off the exam table and secured the towel, though he could not help but shudder at the sight of the hypos as he made his way to the showers.

* * *

Oh, it  _was_ good to be clean. Ares emerged from the showers, scrubbing his ears with one towel while another was firmly wrapped around his waist. In the showers, Along with a kit containing soap and other necessities, had been a pair of foam slippers, which, while practical for walking across a slippery floor, did nothing to keep his feet warm. Hopefully his clothes had been returned.

When he stepped into the main room, the first thing he saw was a clone, fully-armored and setting a linen sack upon one of the empty exam tables. By now, he recognized the distinctive scouring patterns on this particular set of armor, and so Ares forgot everything and could not suppress his smile. "Every time I see that armor, something good happens."

Traxis glanced up. The blank, black T-visor hid his face, but Ares hoped he was smiling too.

But there was no trace of good humor in his reply. "You're probably the only one in the galaxy who thinks that."

"I've been told I have an, ah, unique perspective." Ares tried to keep his voice light but the soldier's tense posture did not make it easy.

Nor, he supposed, did his own foolish actions leading up to this moment. The kiss – the entire rescue – still swam in his mind, but he was acutely aware of  _why_ those things had taken place.

After a moment, Traxis nodded to the sack. "Weave had your stuff cleaned."

"That was kind of him."

Traxis was silent. Ares' left  _lek_ twitched, but he ignored it as he approached the table and opened the sack; yes, his clothes were laundered and neatly folded, but the sight did nothing to set him at ease. Nor should they have. He was the villain here, after all.

There was a soft hiss of suction as Traxis withdrew his bucket; all at once he was a man more than a soldier, and his voice was rough. "What happened?"

Kriff, the room grew chillier by the moment. Even a hot flush of shame did nothing to warm him. Ares shivered and looked at his borrowed slippers. "He took the  _Raven._ "

"Bane?"

"Yes."

"Because you couldn't pay him."

Nodding, Ares plucked at a loose thread on his jacket. "I suppose it could have been worse. He could have left me dead in that space station rather than unconscious. But without the  _Stark Raven,_ I have so little, anyway. Perhaps he knew leaving me grounded would be a worse fate."

Only as he said the words did they register, and he gave a bitter chuckle. Bane was a clever one, wasn't he? Vile and sadistic, to be sure, but clever. Almost worthy of respect. But the dark humor faded quickly, and Ares continued. "I managed to make it to my sister's home on Ryloth, but I was still...lost. As the weeks passed, I grew desperate. When I saw the bounty on Kalinda–"

"How much?"

"Two million."

Traxis gave a low whistle. "Fek. That's not chump change."

Ares sighed. "I told Bane he could keep all of it. I just wanted the  _Raven_ back. I know it's no excuse," he shook his head, still not meeting Trax's eyes, "but it was all I had. A choice between  _freedom_ and  _honor._ For me, there was no choice, not really. Not until..."

His throat tightened and he could not release the rest of the story.

But Traxis, apparently, would have none of that. He still stood beside Ares; a solid, imposing wall of fight and muscle. But his words were soft. "Until what?"

"Until I heard your voice." Another chill swept through Ares and he rubbed his arms. "Then I knew I could not do what I had promised Bane. I could not help him destroy two innocent lives to save my own wretched skin."

Traxis was silent for a moment, until, " _Ni ceta_?"

"Was it right?" Ares frowned at the clone. "I thought I might have bungled the accent..."

Honey-brown eyes searched his own, though their owner's face remained impassive. "Depends on what you were trying to say."

"I can never apologize enough for what I did," Ares replied. "Not to you, and certainly not to Kalinda – or her unborn child."

Traxis exhaled deeply and ran a hand through his close-cropped hair, then, to Ares' shock, allowed a small smile to pull at his mouth. "Well, the joke's on you  _and_ that  _chakaar_ ; she's not even in the system. And," he added in a more serious tone. "Stonewall's with her. That's how I knew you were lying."

Despite everything, Ares smiled. "Your brother returned, then?" At Traxis' nod, Ares' smile widened. "I am glad to hear that. There is enough grief in the galaxy without being apart from the ones you love most."

"I guess." It was a non-committal answer, and Ares had no idea what the scarred soldier found so fascinating about the scratched surface of his helmet. "Anyway, there's really just two questions left to answer: what we're going to do with Bane...and you."

Both  _lekku_ twitched at this, and Ares was suddenly acutely aware of how defenseless he was here. Weave's threat notwithstanding, he was alone, unarmed – unclothed – and completely at the mercy of a man who could quite likely kill him with his bare hands.

"Very good questions," he said at last. "Well, for starters, I imagine there is a significant bounty on Bane's head. You could always cash in."

Traxis nodded slowly, but his gaze met Ares' a beat later; even in the florescent lighting of this room, his light brown eyes looked like molten gold. "And you? What should I do with you?"

Perhaps, not so many years ago, Ares would have had a very specific kind of answer to that question, especially when he was in such a vulnerable position. It had been ingrained in him from a tender age that vulnerability itself could be a bargaining tool; he had nothing to his name but his body, and he thought he could have very easily given it to the man who stood before him. Traxis wanted him, that much was certain, and if he were honest, he wanted Traxis, too. Very much. It would be no great hardship to share his body with this man, especially in exchange for freedom – or at least a few hours' head start.

But that part of him was in the past, or so he'd tried to leave it, and there was little pleasure to be taken from either side of such a coercion.

So he shook his head, his  _lekku_ gently thumping his bare back. "I broke your trust and threatened the ones you care about. You should do as you see fit, though," he could not help but add, "if you are open to discussing options, I would prefer  _not_ to be sent back to Ryloth."

For a few moments there was no sound except the quiet bubbling of the tanks, then Traxis exhaled, long and slow. "Okay," he said, picking up his helmet. "I'll talk it over with the others and let you know."

A non-answer, but it was better than an outright refusal. Nodding, Ares glanced around the empty room. "Very well. Where shall I stay, in the meantime?"

Traxis slipped on his bucket and did not answer immediately. His head tilted, giving the impression he was conversing with someone. As Ares was about to ask what was going on, the door slid open and three clones entered; one wore armor similar to Trax's, though with a red insignia on his shoulder.

Along with Traxis, they surrounded Ares, and the scarred clone sighed again. "There's some patient rooms here you can stay in for now, though you'll have to be guarded. It's the best I can do."

So he would be a prisoner again. Well and so. Ares told himself it could be much worse.

None of the clones touched him, but they didn't have to. They got their point across quite well. Ares dressed as quickly as he could while keeping himself covered and allowed them to escort him from a cold room into an even colder hallway. They brought him to a small room with a biobed and 'fresher, and locked the door after they left.


	57. Chapter Fifty-Six

FYI, lots more science  **fiction**  in this chapter! I tried, y'all, I really did. But fake-science is kriffing HARD. :P

Lyrics:[ "Alone," by The Green, from their self-titled album.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0JTIRFi5F3g&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp&index=57)

* * *

 

**Chapter Fifty-Six**

_I don't ever want to be alone,_

_Take me away from the storm,_

_Keep me safe from harm,_

_And I'll be there, and I'll be there._

The pup sniffed the edge of the rag before sinking his teeth into the fabric and giving a strong tug for such a little guy. Grinning, Milo gently pulled the other end; the pup made a squeaking growl and tugged back, tufted ears flopping and paws skidding as he tried to gain traction on the shuttle's floor.

"How old is he?" Kali asked. She was seated in one of the chairs at the common area's table, feet propped in Stonewall's lap.

"About six weeks, I think." Milo studied the pup's coat, brindled in shades of gray, black and brown. He was a fuzzy little thing, though the research Milo had done suggested his baby fur would eventually be replaced with a sleek coat capable of withstanding extreme elements. Where there would one day be a sharp, deadly set of fangs was right now only a trio of little bony nubs, one on the tip of his lower jaw, and two on either side of his upper snout.

Dark, almost black eyes met his, and the pup squeak-growled again, tugging harder on the old rag Milo had found.  _What should I call you, little guy?_

"He's got big paws," Kali added, a smile in her voice. "I suppose that means he's got a bit of growing to do."

"Yeah, how big do anoobas get?" Stonewall asked.

"Pretty big." To distract the pup from the rag, Milo scratched his _shebs_ ; immediately, the little fellow dropped the rag to regard his hindquarters with a mixture of consternation and pleasure. Milo twitched the rag and the pup's attention reoriented itself as he pounced on the fabric.

Crest's voice came from the  _Sahbr'a'_ s galley. "Dinner in five. When was the last time someone checked on the autopilot?"

Kali's eyes had drifted closed as Stonewall rubbed her bare heels; apparently one of the side-effects of growing a baby inside of you was swelling, aching feet. Milo was thankful he'd never have to experience  _that_ sort of thing first-hand.

"It's fine, Crest," she called. "As it's been the last eight hours we've been in hyperspace. As it will be the next eight until we arrive at Aruna." She sighed and looked at her husband. "Do you think Fives wants anything?"

Stonewall's gaze turned distant before he shook his head. "He's still sleeping. I'll see if he's hungry when he wakes up."

She nodded and wriggled her toes. "Then don't stop."

"Never." Stonewall gave her a small smile and obligingly began to massage her arches.

"Kriff, you're good at this," she said, sighing again. "I should get pregnant more often."

"Let's get through this one first, and see how it goes." The former captain's voice was wry, but his face was tight and strained.

Kali opened her eyes and regarded him with an expression Milo could not read, even with his memories of Stonewall's memories. "It was a joke," she said softly.

He nodded once but did not meet her gaze. "I know."

In his distraction, Milo had dropped the rag, so the pup had lost interest in his former prey and had taken to examining Milo's fingers; a sharp nip at his left thumb made Milo wince and look down, where the pup had dropped to a crouch to better study the Human hand.

"No biting," Milo said to the little guy, scooping him up. "Bad puppy." But the pup sniffed at his nose before licking it, and Milo's annoyance evaporated.

"Best teach him that now, before he gets any bigger." Crest entered the common area, carrying a plate and a stack of bowls. "The last thing we need running around is a kriffing anooba with a taste for Human flesh."

"He'll be fine," Milo set the pup down and rose to help his brother. "I've already looked up a few training vids."

"Somehow, I'm still not on board with bringing that thing into the fold."

Milo sighed. "He's just a baby, Crest. I'll train him; it'll be okay, I promise."

As he took the bowls from Crest's hands, the pup sat in the center of the room, following Milo's every movement; while the steaming pashi noodle, vegetable and roasted nerf concoction was distributed, the pup's nostrils flared and he took a new spot at Milo's feet, looking up hopefully.

"No, Aran," Milo said to the anooba. "I'll feed you in a minute."

Kali took a bite of daro root. "Aran? Is that Mando'a?"

Milo nodded. "It means 'guard.' But I'm not sure it's right..."

"Hmm." She considered the pup, who padded toward her, ears pricked and tongue lolling. "No, I don't think it suits him."

"Yeah, it's kind of an ironic name for a vicious hunter." Crest made no effort to hide his disdain, and Milo scowled.

"What does it matter to you?"

The bald clone jerked his chin to Kali. "There's an  _adiik_ on the way, Mi. Not the best time to bring a predator around."

Kali cleared her throat. "Lest you forget, Crest, both of his parents are Force-sensitive. Even if the pup wanted to do harm, he wouldn't get a chance. And," she added with a warm look at Milo, "I have every confidence that Mi can train him to not attack innocent babies. Right, Stone?"

Stonewall had been pushing his food around on his plate with the gaze of someone who wasn't really present. At this, he glanced up and around the table, then looked at the pup. "No, 'Aran' doesn't suit him. Maybe 'Cabur?'"

"Cabur." Milo ignored his  _vod's_ obvious distraction and studied the anooba. "The meaning's pretty similar to 'Aran.' I like the sound a little better, though." He said the name again with the intent of getting the anooba's attention, but the pup ignored him and remained focused on the yummy smells emanating from the table.

Kali's eyes had fallen on her husband, though she, too, did not remark about his lapse in attention. Instead, she glanced at Milo. "You mentioned seeing an Antarian Ranger when you found the little one?"

Now  _this_ was an interesting story. After Milo shared it, he looked at the dark-haired woman again. "Stonewall said you've worked with Rangers, before?"

"Yes, a few times. There was one mission where I was paired with a Ranger Explorer – sort of equivalent to a Padawan. I was a Padawan, myself, and we...well, it was an eventful mission."

Interest piqued, Milo sat up. "Sounds like it. What happened?"

To Milo's surprise, Stonewall – who was apparently listening  _now –_ coughed into his hand as if to conceal laughter. To Milo's  _further_ surprise, Kali's cheeks colored and she took a hasty bite of nerf. "Oh, it was years ago, now. Thalassa and I had some difficulties, but managed to be successful."

"Thalassa? Was that the Explorer?" Milo asked.

Kali nodded without meeting his eyes. "I believe she's a Ranger Captain, now, though I've not spoken to her in a long time."

"I've never heard of the Antarian Rangers," Crest said, chewing thoughtfully. "Are they part of the Jedi Order?"

"Not officially," Kali replied. "However, they are a sort of militarized support system for the Order. Sometimes a Jedi needs assistance on a mission that cannot be provided through more...official channels, which is when the Rangers are brought in."

Kriff, this got more intriguing by the moment. Milo plucked a nerf chunk from his plate and held it at snout-level for the anooba, who eagerly snatched it from his fingers. "Are they Force-sensitive?"

"Not as a rule, though many Jedi Initiates who are not selected as Padawans often turn to the Rangers instead of one of the Service Corps."

"Are there a lot of them?"

"Not so much any more." Kali's voice turned distant. "Especially given the Wars. There have never been many Rangers; I imagine there are less so, now. From what Thalassa said," she added wryly, "it sounded more difficult to become a Ranger than a Jedi."

Milo nodded, considering this new intel. So far, it sounded challenging, but not impossible. A thread of excitement began to wind through his heart. "How do you become a Ranger?"

Both  _vode_ and Kali looked at him, at this; he flushed and ripped off another chunk of nerf to give to the pup. "Er, you know, just wondering."

Okay, so maybe getting him used to table-scraps was against some of the training vids Milo had already watched, but the little guy was just so... _little._ Still, Milo didn't release the nerf until the pup had given a few hearty tugs.

_You're a strong one, aren't you?_ Milo thought, smiling. When the pup finally worked it loose, he gave a squeak of satisfaction and plunked between Milo's feet to gnaw his prize.

"I believe there's an application process," Kali said after a moment. "They do a background check, fitness test, that sort of thing. And I think – unless things have changed drastically – you need a Jedi's recommendation." She gave him a wink. "I've no clue where you can get one of those."

He could not suppress his grin. "Ah, too bad." A nudge against his foot made him look down; the pup had finished the nerf and had taken to testing his jaws against the hide of Milo's boot.

"Wait a kriffing minute," Crest broke in, gaping at Kali. "You said  _his_ parents? Are you...is it a boy?"

Stonewall and Kali exchanged looks and she smiled. "Yes, Crest. We're having a son."

To his own surprise, Milo's throat tightened and he could hardly breathe. A boy. A little boy. His  _vod_ would have a son, and he'd be a  _ba'vodu_  – an uncle. Though he'd seen the ultrasounds by now, somehow, this news made the reality all the more so.

Crest's mouth hung open a moment before incredulity turned into joy, and he bounded out of his chair to hug the dark-haired woman and his brother. "A son," he said as he embraced the two of them. "Holy kriffing hell..."

"I know," Kali said when he released her. She was grinning hugely. "I find myself constantly surrounded by mascs." She beamed at Stonewall, who smiled back. "Lucky for me I don't mind."

"I wish we had something better than prepackaged junk," Crest said, hurrying for the galley. "This is worthy of a  _real_ meal. Ronto steaks, at least."

Kali's eyes closed as if in rapture. "Don't say 'steak' to me, Crest. I swear my appetite has increased a thousandfold."

"You can finish mine," Stonewall said, pushing his plate to her.

She studied him. "You're not hungry?"

He shrugged.

Milo cleared his throat, drawing both their attentions. "Have you thought about names?" Apparently he was obsessed with naming things today.

They exchanged looks, but Stonewall shook his head. "Not yet, so much."

Nodding, Milo looked down at the anooba pup, who'd straddled his boot in order to get a better tooth-grip on the toe. Kriff, he was little, but his jaws were strong already; he'd be a force to be reckoned with when he grew into those huge paws.

"Hey," he said, looking up at his family. "How about 'Kot?'"

Kali pulled a face. "That's a nice suggestion, Mi, but I don't think..."

"Not  _your_  baby," Milo said, chuckling. "The one trying to eat my shoe."

"Strength?" Stonewall asked, regarding the pup. "Hmm. I like it."

"Me too," Kali said after a moment.

Milo glanced up at Crest, who'd returned to the table with four plasti-cups of hot chocolate. "It was the best I could do," he said, passing them out. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"What do you think of Kot, for his name?" Milo asked, nodding to the pup.

Crest took a seat and shrugged. "I guess it's better than 'Vicious Killer.'"

But there was only good humor in his voice; the news had, apparently, softened him up a little bit. So Milo lifted his mug and said, "To the new  _adiik,_ and his parents."

The others followed suit; their mugs clicked and Kali added, "And to Kot."

"To Kot," they all repeated.

"Welcome to the family, all-around," Crest added, sighing before he took a sip.

In response, Kot gave a high-pitched, tiny bark, and everyone chuckled. It was powdered, instant hot chocolate, but it warmed him from the inside-out. Milo grinned and drank deep.

* * *

 

_Meanwhile, in the Rudral Rehabilitation Center..._

Weave's stomach growled, his back ached from bending over the console, and he had to piss something fierce, but he ignored all of it. After months of study and work, true success was finally within his grasp. The holographic image of a clone's twisting DNA strands rotated slowly before him, projected from a small disk upon his workstation. It painted the otherwise dark room in pale blue light, giving him the feeling that he was underwater – at least when he allowed such fanciful notions to creep into his brain in a rare moment of distraction.

But there was no place for distraction now. Weave took a deep breath, entered the final code, and initiated the simulation.

Nothing happened.

Sighing, Weave leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes, then glared at the spiraled strands. Kriff. Hours upon hours of testing, tweaking...he'd really thought he'd figured out the sequence of codes needed to get the nanogene droids to activate the telomeres within the clones' DNA. But the holo remained unchanged. The telomeres, highlighted for the purpose of the simulation, still appeared as shortened "rungs," as if someone had built a ladder incorrectly. Of course it wasn't a design flaw, but a purposeful alteration by the Kaminoans, manifesting in the clones' rapid aging, but he'd thought – he'd  _hoped_ – to correct it with the nanogene droids.

He glanced at his chrono and groaned. Another night gone; dawn was scant hours away. The cup of caf he'd set beside him was cold and unappetizing, but he was too weary to get another. He rubbed his eyes again and considered how badly his back would ache if he slept right here at his workstation – again.

Movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention. Weave raised his head and watched the holographic DNA strand as it was overrun by...clankers. Dozens of the microscopic droids swarmed over the spiraling formation, concentrating over the too-short telomeres. Exhaustion forgotten, Weave leaned forward, transfixed by the actions of the tiny, insect-like droids. Even in the simulation, their movements were too fast for him to discern exactly  _how_ they were doing it, but when the first group moved on, the telomere they'd focused their energy upon was...

"Normal," he said aloud, glancing over the readouts streaming across his datapad, which he'd hooked into the computer and holoterminal for the simulation. "Holy kriffing hell...it works."

"Had a feeling you'd still be awake."

A clone voice made him whirl towards the doorway, where Zero, Rime and Cobble were entering the room. Cobble carried a tray of food while Rime walked beside him, one hand on his shoulder. Zero carried a steaming cup of something – tea, judging from the smell.

It was Zero who'd spoken, but Rime tilted his head and inhaled deeply. "Ugh, that caf of yours is  _hours_ old. When was the last time you slept?"

Weave shook his head. Where exhaustion had once filled him, now his knees bounced and he thought he could run laps around the RC. "Look," he said, pointing to the holo-DNA. "It's working! It's finally  _working._ "

"Okay,  _so_ not fair," Rime said, frowning. "Someone tell me what he's getting at."

Zero did not reply immediately. Cobble carefully set down the tray of food on a nearby table – where another tray sat, cold and untouched – and led Rime to the holoproj. He studied the slowly rotating image before grinning at Weave. "Cobble?"

Weave grinned back. "Yep."

Zero thrust the tea into Weave's hand and frowned at the holographic image as well. "What am I looking at?"

"Someone  _please_ let me in on the joke, as well," Rime added wryly.

"The telomeres," Weave said, setting the tea down to point to the newly-repaired "rungs" in the DNA strand. "They're a normal length. I finally figured out the right sequence of codes to tell the nanos to repair them."

Cobble laughed aloud; the sound of pure joy echoed through the lab. Rime and Zero, however, only regarded the holoimage with puzzled looks, until Zero cleared his throat. "And, in Basic...?"

"If this result can be achieved in a clone body," Weave said slowly, because he still didn't quite believe it. "It could normalize the pace of our aging. It could give all clones a normal Human lifespan."

"Holy kriffing hell," Rime said, mouth hanging open as Cobble hugged him close. "That's...huge."

Zero's gaze was a little more speculative. "This is a simulation?"

"Right." Weave turned to the computer screen, where he'd initially entered the codes. "But when you're dealing with droids, the results tend to be more uniform; they're far more predictable than organic life forms."

It was the greatest irony in the galaxy. Clone lives with the potential to be  _saved_ by mass quantities of clankers, rather than shortened. Weave wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry.

Rime leaned into Cobble's side. "Can they do other things...besides fix our aging? General Tallis wasn't able to do anything about my sight."

"I don't know," Weave admitted, flushing. "I've focused mainly on the telomere aspect, but I don't see why they couldn't be applied in other areas."

"That's what Creon was trying to do," Zero said quietly. "Not so much the aging thing, but 'fixing' other stuff. But he could never manage it."

Silence fell over the clones as they studied the rotating image. Weave considered. "I don't know about what Creon did, Zero," he said after a few moments. "All I know is what the sim is telling me. I believe it will work in practice as it has worked in theory, but I'd need to..."

He trailed off, suddenly unwilling to say the word, given what these men had undergone at Creon's spindly hands.

"You need to test them out on a clone," Zero finished, nodding once. "It's the next logical step."

Heat crept to Weave's face as he tried to find a tactful way to voice his thoughts. "Well...I need to run more simulations first. Then, maybe–"

"You  _need_  to test them out on a clone," Zero said again.

Weave sighed. "It will come down to that, likely soon."

"Right." Zero glanced at Cobble; something wordless passed between them before the one-armed clone nodded. "Well, when it  _does_ come to that, sign me up. And I'll see if any of the other guys are up for one more go-round."

Shock rolled though Weave's body and he shook his head. "I was going to test them on  _me._ "

Rime threw back his head and laughed aloud again; he had a  _very_ loud laugh. "Are you kriffing kidding me? If something goes wrong, we'd lose you."

"And you're far too valuable," Zero added. "No point in you risking that brilliant brain of yours when there's a host of other test subjects around."

Weave shuddered at the calm in the other man's voice. "I can't let you do that. Any of you. You've all been," he had to force the words out, "test subjects for too long."

"Exactly." Zero stood before the DNA image, body in a relaxed parade rest, save the stump dangling at his side. "We're used to it. And honestly, I'd rather be at your mercy than the long-neck's. For once, I want it to be my _choice_."

There was no bitter twist to Zero's words. No dry, grim observation. Just a matter-of-fact enunciation of a reality that Weave had not considered; he'd been too focused on arriving at this point to think much of what would happen once he did.

He regarded the men from Misfit Squad. Could he allow himself to use them as test subjects, as Creon had done? It  _was_  the most logical course of action. But the idea made his stomach twist more than a strand of DNA.

"I don't know," he managed at last, shaking his head.

"What's not to know?" Rime muttered, scowling. "You have the potential to save  _all_ clones. Personally, if it meant I got to help the guys who've been out there risking their lives every kriffing day, I'd sign up in a heartbeat."

Zero nodded. "We're no good on a battlefield," he added calmly. "And we never will be. You know that, Weave. But if we can serve some purpose, do some good..."

He trailed off, leaving the thought unspoken. Weave exhaled and rubbed his eyes again. Kriff. They were right, weren't they? "Okay," he said after a moment. "I'll draw up a plan and figure out the logistics. Once I do, we'll find a few volunteers and," he swallowed, "see how it goes."

Kriff, it all sounded so nebulous. He hated the notion of just...hoping that the nanos would work before he set them loose inside a clone body, but he could not see another option.

But then, he'd had to rely on the intangible before, hadn't he? He'd had to trust the Force, and the women who wielded it. Maybe the nanos involved another kind of trust.

Fek.

A warm hand on his shoulder drew him out of his thoughts; he blinked rapidly to clear his blurring vision and met Cobble's eyes. "Cobble," the other medic said, nodding toward the lab's exit.

"He's right," Rime said. "You need to rest before the others get back."

Frowning, Weave regarded his workstation, cluttered with flimsies and half-drained mugs of caf. "But–"

"We promised Traxis we'd keep an eye on you," Zero broke in, grabbing his elbow and steering him to the door. "And I'll be damned if I'm going to get on that guy's bad side. He's a mean kark when it comes to push-ups."

Though his body was heavy, Weave managed a chuckle. "Fine. I suppose I can get a few hours in before Stonewall and the others return."

"So glad to hear it," Zero said dryly as they slipped out of the lab.

"Cobble," Cobble said with a sigh.

Rime chuckled. "Yeah, medics  _do_  make the worst patients, don't they,  _vod?"_

_Vod._ Weave smiled. "They certainly do."

* * *

 

It felt like no sooner had Weave managed to fall into bed in one of the medic's quarters at the RC than did his door open. He cracked his eyes to see Trax's familiar form filling the doorway.

"They're in atmo," his scarred brother said, jerking his thumb in the direction of the RC's landing platform.

Weave groaned and pulled the pillow over his eyes. "Thanks for the update."

Trax came to stand by his bedside. "I would've let you sleep, but Stonewall said they brought our first patient."

At this, Weave sat up, suddenly – mostly – awake. The true medical staff for the RC were still being transferred; for now, it was him and Cobble, along with a few volunteers sent by Upala.

"Second," he replied, yawning as he reached for his boots. "Ares was the first."

Had Ares shared their conversation? He glanced up to gauge Trax's reaction, and found his scarred brother frowning, which was not unusual, in and of itself. But it was a thoughtful frown rather than one of annoyance or disdain, and Traxis said nothing else about the matter.

In a few minutes, Weave was kitted up and ready, so he and Traxis and a few other fellows from Misfit Squad made their way to the landing platform. It had been deemed necessary for the rehab center to have its own area where patients could be dropped off, rather than having them arrive at the hangars in the Port Authority; the RC platform was at the center of the circular RC. There were a few emergency vehicles, along with several speeders meant to transport patients and staff through the city.

It was just barely dawn; gold and saffron brindled a violet sky, and the air was cool. Weave craned his neck and searched the clouds. "How bad is the patient?"

"It's a clone, and Stonewall said the guy wasn't critical," Traxis replied.

Weave glanced over his shoulder, where Cobble stood by with a grav stretcher and a few Arunai medical technicians. "We're not one-hundred percent functional yet," he said, looking back at the sky. "Upala's still working on hiring a full staff."

"Then we're lucky it's just one man," Traxis said.

Before Weave could rely, Rime called, "I hear a ship."

Everyone looked up, and sure enough, within moments, the familiar Arunai shuttle dropped out of the clouds, making a direct heading for the landing platform. It settled easily, the hatch opened and the loading ramp lowered, and Weave signaled Cob and the Arunai to follow him. Traxis, naturally, came along as well.

Stonewall and Crest appeared first, supporting a fairly bulky clone between them; judging from his muscular build, Weave pegged him as an ARC trooper. He was walking, but his movements were stumbling and halted, and he seemed to have difficulty keeping focused on any one spot.

"Here," Weave said, directing his  _vode_ to the grav stretcher.

They obliged, but the ARC scowled. "I can kriffin'  _walk._ "

"Oh, we know," Crest said as they guided the ARC down. "But you know how these big medcenters are; everything's a liability, and they've got to cover their  _shebse_ in case you decide to sue."

The ARC chuckled and allowed himself to be eased onto the stretcher, though he looked up at Stonewall once he was prone. "Rex."

"You'll be comm'ing him soon," Stonewall said, nodding. "Let me get my wife settled in, and I'll come find you. Okay?"

The ARC studied Stonewall a moment before a grin cracked his face. "Sure. Take your time and go  _settle_ your wife. Not like I'm going anywhere, I guess."

" _Di'kut,_ " Stonewall said affectionately as he stepped away from the stretcher to allow the techs to secure the ARC. He exchanged quick nods with Traxis and Weave before turning back to the shuttle, where Kali and Milo emerged. To Weave's consternation, Kali was leaning rather heavily on Milo's shoulder, while the younger clone had an arm around her waist, supporting her. And, to further throw the medic off-kilter, she was carrying a small bundle of fabric...

"Holy kriffing hell," Traxis said, the swears echoing on the permacrete platform. "How long are Jedi pregnant for, anyway?"

Crest had come to stand with Weave and Traxis. "Relax,  _vod,_ " he said, rolling his eyes. "It's not  _that_ kind of baby. But Milo  _is_  a  _buir_."

Traxis' mouth hung open. "Are you fekking kidding me?"

Weave had been ready to assist the others with Fives, but at this, he turned back to watch Milo. Stonewall met his wife at the ramp's edge and scooped her up; she carefully handed the bundle of fabric to Milo, who took it equally as carefully, peeking through the folds and grinning at whatever was wrapped within. He looked back up and waved at his brothers with his free hand before bounding over.

"Guys," he said proudly, thrusting the bundle their way. "Meet Kot."

Trax and Weave peered into the bundle before Weave let out a laugh and Traxis ran a hand across his scarred face. "Only you," he shook his head, "would go all the way to the Core to bring back a fardling pest."

Milo frowned and hugged the pup close to his chest; the creature let out a muffled squeak in protest. "He's not a  _pest_ , Trax. He's just a baby."

"Anoobas  _are_  considered pests by a lot of livestock owners," Weave said. Milo frowned at him, so he quickly added, "But I'm sure this one will be...not that way."

"Guys, leave it alone," Kali said as Stonewall brought her over. "Kot is a part of our family now, and if you don't like it...well, keep your mouth shut. And Stone," she added, twisting her head to regard her husband. "I told you before, I can walk just  _fine_."

He met her gaze without emotion. "Is your back still hurting?"

"A little."

"And you're still tired, even though you slept most of the way here?"

She exhaled deeply. "Fine. Carry me all the way back to our room. But you'd better ravish me when we get there. I'm about at my wit's end."

Milo laughed. Traxis rolled his eyes and Crest gave a long-suffering sigh. "Another side-effect of pregnancy, apparently," he muttered to Weave, whose face was hot. "I kind of miss the good old days, when we weren't supposed to know what they did together."

Expression still deadpan, Stonewall nodded to his brothers. "Weave, Trax; good to see you both. I'll come find you in a few minutes. Er...an hour," he added as Kali glared at him. She pursed her lips. "Make that an hour and a half," he amended. "Better?"

She smiled coyly. "Getting there." To the others, she said, "We do have lots of news – mostly good – but first I need some alone-time with my husband."

Traxis pulled a face and made a dismissive motion. "Yeah, we effing got that. Now get the fek out of here, both of you. Kriffing hell..."

"We'll catch up when you're...er...finished," Weave added, flushing harder.

She grinned at him before leaning into Stonewall's chest. "Alright,  _move_  it, trooper! Double time!"

"Yes, sir," he replied wryly, turning for the nearest speeder.

"Don't you 'sir' me," she shot back.

They were almost out of earshot, but Weave caught Stonewall's reply, a stern, "As you wish, General."

"He seems like he's doing better," Traxis said to Crest. "Everything went alright on Triple Zero?"

The bald clone's face closed into a look of uncommon seriousness. "Yeah, I guess. Nothing too catastrophic happened while we were gone?"

Traxis and Weave exchanged looks. "Nothing  _too_  catastrophic," Weave said, shrugging.

Crest glanced between them. "Something tells me there's a story there. Sharing is caring, you know."

The ARC was now secure on the hover-stretcher; Cobble and the Aruni techs had directions to bring him to a prepared room, so Weave nodded toward the RC. "We'll fill you in once the ARC is settled."

"Great." The clones turned to follow the stretcher.

All but Milo, who stood frozen behind them. Beside Weave, Traxis sighed and called over his shoulder. "Shift it, shiny. Bring the pup, if you must."

Most of Weave's attention had gone to his new patient, but he did not miss the way Milo watched the Aruni technicians – one, in particular. Tejaal, one of Upala's doctors, glared vibroblades at Milo before pointedly turning her back on the clone and heading inside with the others. Weave glanced back in time to catch Mi's sagging shoulders before he took a deep breath, smiled down at Kot, and hurried to catch up with his brothers.

* * *

 

A/N: My lovely beta,  **impoeia** , informed me that in German, "Kot" is a word for poop, specifically of the canine variety. I kept the pup's name as-is, because it still totally works. ;)


	58. Chapter Fifty-Seven

Lyrics: ["No Bad News," by Patty Griffin, from  _Children Running Through._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O-LiTaSaOfo&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp&index=58)

* * *

**Chapter Fifty-Seven**

_I'm gonna find me a man, love him so well, love him so strong, love him so slow,_

_We're gonna grow way beyond the walls of this fortress._

_And we won't be afraid, we won't be afraid, and though the darkness may come our way,_

_We won't be afraid to be in love any more._

_And we'll grow kindness in our hearts for all the strangers among us,_

_'Till there are no strangers any more._

_Later..._

Kali sighed and leaned up to kiss him. "Kriff, I've missed you."

Strong arms wrapped around her waist, and Stonewall held her close enough so that she could hear the steady drum of his heartbeat, receding from a faster pace. He kissed her hard enough to leave her dizzy – as if she wasn't still reeling – before nibbling her neck and jawline. "I've missed you too,  _Kali'ka,_ " he murmured into her throat. "I can't begin to tell you how much."

His voice pulsed with Force-energy, emphasizing the nuances of every spoken word. Kali shivered and relaxed into his chest, too happy to feel even the slightest bit of guilt that they'd rushed here so soon after landing. The guys had things well in hand, and soon enough, she and Stone would be back at work. But they both needed this, right now. Two months apart wasn't so long in the grand scheme of the galaxy, but it'd felt like a lifetime. She skimmed her hand to his cheek and pulled his mouth to hers again.

A faint but insistent chirrup emanated from the pile of clothes Stone had stripped off of her the moment the door to their room had closed. Sighing, Kali called her comlink to her hand with the Force and glanced at the incoming source code.

"Altis," she said to Stonewall, who immediately covered himself with a sheet. Kali chuckled. "I was going to answer it voice-only."

"I'd feel better not talking to a Jedi Master while completely naked," he said wryly, adding a pointed look in her direction.

But Kali had no such qualms. It wasn't like Altis could  _tell._ Kali cleared her throat and activated the transmission. "Master Altis."

"Kali. Are you still on Coruscant?" His voice crackled slightly with static.

"No, Master. We just returned to Aruna about an hour ago." She smoothed back a loose strand of hair; naturally, her braid was completely undone at this point. "Coruscant went...about as well as I expected. But they know now."

"You did the right thing," he said warmly. "Though I imagine it was fairly unpleasant."

She glanced at her husband, who gave her a small smile. "It wasn't so bad."

There was another crackle, then a hiss, then Altis spoke again. "I confess, I have an ulterior motive for calling you so early; my plan was originally to allow you a few days to get your bearings before drafting you into service, but I'm afraid that's out of the viewport."

Frowning, Kali sat up and pulled the edge of Stonewall's sheet around her torso; suddenly, it felt like she shouldn't be naked for this  _particular_ call. "Of course, Master. What do you need?"

"I know the rehabilitation center is not entirely complete," he said between hisses and pops of static. "But I've been working with...shall we say an underground clone interest group who has received an influx of new patients, more than they are equipped to handle."

Kali glanced at Stonewall, who met her eyes steadily. She read his determination within those honey-brown depths, and found it matched her own. "Send them," she said into the comlink. "We're not at one-hundred percent functionality yet, but they'll have a place here."

"How many are there, sir?" Stonewall asked.

After a brief pause, Altis replied. "A dozen, I'm being told. A mixture of commandos and ground troopers from various legions. Most are too injured to return to active duty."

"That's not a problem." Kali leaned into Stonewall's arms, considering. "We're trying to work with some local groups to get the clones who come here some kind of vocational training, so they can learn skills outside of the military." Similar efforts were being made on Alderaan, Naboo and Chandrila.

"Very good to hear," Altis said. "I know it's short notice, but my other contact would like them moved to Rudral by tomorrow evening, your time."

Stonewall's brows lifted almost to his hairline and Kali pursed her lips in thought; they exchanged looks again, and she could read his thoughts on his face. "It  _is_ short notice, Master," she said slowly. "But we'll make it work."

"Thank you." His next words held a touch of wryness. "Consider this your first assignment as an Altisian."

Kali chuckled and nudged Stonewall's side. "Thank you, Master. We both will."

"Both? Stonewall, have you decided to join our not-so-esteemed ranks?"

Her husband rested his hands on her waist and leaned his head on her shoulder. "Yes, sir."

Kriff, he was warm and solid, and she was filled with gratitude so strong it made her eyes water. "So there you have it, Master," Kali said, swiping at her eyes. "I'll call you once the transfers arrive and get settled."

"That will be most welcome, thank you." There was another pause before Altis cleared his throat. "And Kali?"

"Yes, Master?"

There was a smile in the elder Jedi's voice. " 'Master' is so formal. Please call me 'Djinn.'"

Stonewall chuckled in her ear and Kali flushed. "Of course...Djinn."

After the transmission ended, she twisted around to look at her husband. Even in the week or so since his return, he'd filled out a little more and had started to look like his old self. While she thought she could sleep for a week – or more – even after an hour of vigorous lovemaking, he didn't seem tired at all. Thank the Force, indeed. And curse her kriffing hormones; one minute she was exhausted, the next she couldn't get enough of the man next to her.

"I suppose we should get to work," she said with a sigh.

Stone kissed her cheek. " _You_  should rest. I can tell the guys and get everything started."

Kriff, it was tempting, but this was technically her first  _real_ task as an Altisian. "I'm not tired," she said, wriggling from his arms to get to the edge of the bed. "And I can rest later tonight."

"You're not tired?" His voice turned teasing. "After all that? I must be losing my touch."

"Your touch is kriffing fantastic," she said as she gathered their discarded clothes. Both lightsabers were in the pile as well, and she carefully set them on the bed, ensuring that her father's old one was nearest to Stonewall. "But we have work to do. Right, Stonewall-the-Altisian?"

He gave her a small, but genuine smile and reached for his body-glove. "Yes, I suppose we do."

Kali watched him deliberately  _not_ touch the saber, and tried not to be disappointed.  _Give him time,_ her better sensed urged. There were still shadows beneath his eyes and within his Force-presence. He was still healing; he might never be completely as he'd been.

She knew that, of course, but that didn't stop her from wanting the man she loved to be  _whole._

* * *

_Later..._

Weave took the news better than Kali had expected. Not that she'd anticipated panic – Weave was not one for panic – but his less-than-startled expression at the knowledge that a dozen injured men would be here in just over twelve hours was perplexing. She didn't have time to mull it over, though, for while Weave, Crest and Milo went to work with Misfit Squad to set up an adequate number of patient rooms, Traxis tapped her shoulder.

Turning, Kali immediately caught ripples of agitation and frustration welling from the scarred soldier, and her maternal instincts went into overdrive. "Trax, what's wrong?"

"I need to talk to you and Stonewall." He jerked his chin in the direction of a half-completed office. "Alone."

Kali glanced around and caught her husband's eyes; he'd been about to head to Fives' room, but at her look he reached to her through the Force.  _What is it?_

_Trax needs to talk to us. Alone._

He said something to Weave, and trotted back to her and Trax. Once they were together, Traxis led them inside the office and shut the door. The smell of paint and plaster was strong, but not nearly as strong as Trax's dark mood.

"Trax?" she asked.

He ran a hand through his hair. "Kriff, I don't know the best way to say this, so I'll just spit it out. While you were away, Ares came back." Kali started to smile, but halted at the grim set of Trax's mouth. He continued. "He came back...and brought Cad Bane. For you," he added, glancing at Kali. "Apparently the Seppies have a karking huge bounty on you, and Bane wanted it. Ares..."

He trailed off.

Stonewall's voice was quiet. "What happened, Trax?"

Traxis took a deep breath. "Ares called your old comlink," he glanced at Kali, "but I answered. He said he had information about you, Stonewall _,_ and wanted to talk to Kali. But..." He trailed off again, like he could hardly get the words out, and Kali's heart tightened at the look of bitterness on his face. "He meant to help Bane capture you," he said at last.

Kali was silent, absorbing this new information. Stonewall, however, took up the talk; anger crackled through his Force-presence, and he stood by Kali's side, a solid mass of growing hostility. "Where the fek is Bane? Tell me you slotted both of them."

"Stone–"

But he shook his head, looking daggers at Traxis. "Where. Is. Bane?"

"Tucked away in the Rudral prison system," Trax replied calmly, though his Force-presence wavered. "You think I'd let that  _chakaar_  go free?"

"I'd thought you would have slagged him," Stonewall said. "Where's the Twi'lek?"

Traxis blinked and looked away. "Here."

" _Here_?" Stonewall all but snarled the word. "I hope for his sake he's critically injured, because otherwise..."

He trailed off, adding another, darker glare at his brother. Anger pulsed around him, seething in the Force, such that it was an effort for Kali to shake it off. After a moment she put a hand on her husband's arm, drawing his attention. But she spoke to Traxis. "Was he injured?"

"Who the kriff cares?" Stonewall growled.

She shook her head. "Trax? Was he?"

Traxis nodded slowly. "There was...a fight. Ares decided he couldn't go through with it," he looked pointedly at Stonewall, "and cut the transmission while we spoke. Later, we found him and Bane, slugging it out on Bane's ship. We arrested Bane and put Ares in bacta. He's recovered now."

Stonewall spoke through gritted teeth. "Then why isn't he in prison with Bane?"

"He made a stupid choice, alright?" Traxis said sharply, narrowing his eyes at his brother. "But he regrets it. He was put into a kriffing,  _shabla_ bitch of a situation, and did the best he could. He's sorry–"

"Not as sorry as he's going to be." Stonewall stepped for the door, but Kali cleared her throat. Before she formed a true thought, he caught the gist of her feelings and sighed. "Come the kriff on."

"I think," she said gently, "since  _I'm_  the one with the bounty on my head, I should be the one to determine how to handle the situation."

"Kali..."

"At least let's hear Ares' side of the story," she added, glancing at Traxis.

Stonewall scowled. "What does it matter? He wanted to turn my  _pregnant_  wife over to the galaxy's biggest scumbag. As far as I'm concerned, Ares Tabora is a dead man. Twi'lek. Whatever."

Alarm leaped from Traxis, but Kali held firm. "Stonewall, while you were away, I had to go to some pretty great lengths to get a ship and get to Kamino. I was glad to do it, because it meant getting to you and Mi, but it wasn't easy. Without Ares' help – and generosity – I wouldn't have reached Milo in time, and he would have died. And," she added with another look at Trax, "I'd wager that it's because of Ares' generosity that he got on the bad side of Cad Bane.

"I'm not exactly thrilled with the situation, either," she added. "But Ares deserves a chance to explain his actions."

Stonewall regarded her a moment, then, to her surprise, glanced at his brother. "Do you trust Ares with her – and our son's – safety?"

There was no hesitation. Traxis lifted his chin and held Stonewall's gaze. "Yes."

The two men regarded each other before the tension in Stonewall's shoulder eased. He'd always been stubborn, but even those lingering traces of  _Shadow_ were not unreasonable; he nodded slowly, though she could still read the anger within her husband's face and voice. "Fine," he said, taking a deep breath. "Let's hear him out. But I'm warning you...I'm not going to be objective about this."

Traxis exhaled; relief trickled through his Force-presence. He nodded to the door and the three of them made their way into the corridor. As they hurried through the RC, Kali could not help herself. "How much was it?"

"What?"

"The bounty on me."

Stonewall scowled. "I don't want to know..."

Traxis did not answer immediately, though at last, when they passed into the wing that held the patients' rooms, he sighed deeply. "Two million."

Kali froze in her tracks, mouth flopping open like a gooberfish. "Two million...credits?"

Rolling his eyes, Traxis paused and looked back at her. "No, two million atta-boys. Yes,  _vod,_ credits."

"Kriff," she said, blinking. "Should I be flattered?"

"I wouldn't," Traxis replied grimly.

Stonewall shook his head. "I can't believe you're pleased about this."

"I'm not  _pleased,_ " she said as they resumed walking. "Just surprised. And," she bit back a wry smile, "okay, I'm a little pleased." She had a very un-Jedi-like urge to call Ben and brag, but thought better of it.

They hurried through the gleaming halls in silence, until Traxis halted and glanced at Stonewall once more. "Did you say...son?"

Where her husband had been scowling, now he smiled fully. "Yeah," he said, his voice taking on a slightly dazed quality. "We're going to have a son."

Traxis' face was blank as he considered, then he grabbed his brother's forearm and pulled him into a fierce but quick embrace; after, he turned to Kali but hesitated. "I don't want to jiggle anything loose..."

"It's far too soon for that, so jiggle away," she said, grinning. "But I'd like a hug, too. Clone hugs are the best."

He pulled a face but embraced her warmly. "Okay," he said once he drew back. "Enough of that  _shabla_ feel-good  _osik._ And neither of you had better tell Baldy..."

Kali and Stonewall exchanged glances before she winked at the scarred clone. "Your emotional outburst is safe with us, Trax."

He sighed and they continued walking. "Fan-kriffing-tastic."

* * *

Moments later, Traxis paused before the door to Ares' room and nodded to Trig and Roth, who'd been assigned guard duty. "He give you any trouble?" Traxis asked, though he thought he knew the answer.

Indeed, Trig shook his head. "Mostly he's been quiet."

"Mostly?" Stonewall asked.

Roth shrugged. "Yeah, except for when he asked about us. Said he wanted to know 'our stories.'"

"Kind of unusual," Trig added, brows furrowed. "But then, he is a Twi'lek."

Rather than try to interpret  _that_  train of thought, Traxis palmed the door's control-panel, took another breath, and stepped inside. This was one of the few completed rooms; given the incoming wounded men, Traxis wasn't sure what would be done with Ares. It was not a large space, though by GAR standards it would be considered generous. A single biobed rested at the room's center, facing wide windows that overlooked the landing platform and the clear sky. The vidscreen tucked into the room's upper corner was dark, and the tray of food someone had brought Ares earlier was untouched.

The Twi'lek sat cross-legged at the edge of the biobed, blanket wrapped around his shoulders and  _lekku._ His gaze was on the window. Surely he'd heard the door open, but he did not turn right away. "Lunchtime, already?" he said at last, his voice holding a trace of wry humor. "I have not yet finished breakfast."

"Was the food bad?" Kali asked, frowning at the full plate. "The cooks aren't here yet, so we've had to make do with donations."

Ares tensed, then slid out of the bed to face the Jedi and clones. Traxis' stupid,  _di'kut_ heart tightened at the way the Twi'lek stood straight and tall, though his eyes were downcast. "Kali," Ares said quietly. "I see you've returned."

"So have you." She placed a hand on Stonewall's arm. "Ares, this is my husband. This is the man you helped us try to rescue."

Ares swept his eyes across Stonewall, then ducked his head into a nod, even though his entire body grew, if anything, more rigid. No, he was not stupid; nor was it, Traxis supposed, too difficult to read the hostility on Stonewall's face.

But Ares' voice was calm. "I am glad to know you are well, Stonewall."

Stonewall crossed his arms before his chest and said nothing.

Kali took a few steps so that she was within arm's reach of Ares, ignoring the way both clones tensed. Stonewall made to move forward, but his face grew distant, as it did when he and his Jedi-wife were speaking through the Force, and he held his ground, though it was not without a scowl. Traxis, too, remained still; as much as he wanted to stand at Ares' side, it was for the best to let Kali suss him out on her own.

_He's one of the good ones,_  he thought, watching Ares watch the Jedi.  _She'll be able to tell._

So he hoped.

Kali regarded Ares a moment, then said, softly, "Why?"

He exhaled and dropped his eyes. "Desperation," he said, equally as softly. "Fear. The, ah, usual suspects."

Traxis knew her well, and caught the faint lift of her mouth at the joke, though her next words were serious. "But you are not afraid any longer."

Ares' brow furrowed as he looked at her. "I suppose not."

"Why?"

He shook his head once. "I have nothing left to lose."

Kali did not wear Jedi robes any longer, but she was, in this moment, more of a Jedi than Trax had ever seen her. "What would you do now, if you were left to your own devices?"

"I..." Ares hesitated, his eyes darting to Traxis once before he looked at the Jedi again. "I would leave," he said at last. "Try to start from scratch, I suppose. Perhaps, with enough work and time, I can earn money to buy...another ship."

But even in his lilting Ryl accent, the words sounded hollow.  _Another ship._ Traxis nearly rolled his eyes. There  _was_ no other ship for Ares Tabora. There was only the  _Stark Raven._ He knew this as surely as he knew his own fardling name.

He thought – or hoped, it was hard to tell the difference right now – that Kali knew so as well, for her eyes softened.

So the threat laced within Stonewall's voice caught Traxis off-guard, though it should not have. "What sort of 'work' would you do?"

Rather than answer immediately, Ares ran a hand down his left  _lek._ "The honest sort," he said at last. "Every time I choose a less-than-scrupulous path, I regret it. Especially recently, I have learned the value of doing the right thing, no matter the cost. And," he added thickly, "for what it's worth, Kalinda, and Stonewall...I regret my actions. I am sorry."

Fek. Traxis bit his tongue to distract himself, to give himself something else to focus on rather than the urge to rush to Ares' side. The Twi'lek had sought to harm his  _vod_ and her child, and Traxis knew the man standing beside him, whom he loved in his own way, would not easily come by forgiveness. But Kali would, especially if she knew Traxis cared – because fekking hell, he  _did_ care – what happened to the coral-skinned male before her.

If forgiveness was to come, it had to do so without Traxis' help. It was the only way Ares would ever be truly accepted by his family.

As if in the final moment before a freefall, his breath caught. His heart froze with an unnamed fear, an unexpected anticipation, and he knew the shape of his life would forever be changed.

Seemingly heedless of these thoughts, Kali studied Ares again, her normally expressive face a mask of Jedi-calm. Ares met her gaze, his own eyes warm and shaded with gold. Stonewall's arms were still crossed before his chest, but Traxis thought – no, again, he effing  _hoped_ – his  _vod_ was slightly less pissed-off than he'd been.

At last, after what felt like hours, Kali nodded slowly. "Very well. You're free to go."

Ares visibly relaxed. "Thank you, Kali."

"Don't thank me just yet." Her mouth twisted as it did when she was fighting back a smile. "I have a task for you."

"Anything," Ares said. "Name it."

She hesitated, her eyes going distant; a beat later, Stonewall made a noise of annoyance, muttering, "You're fekking kidding me."

Kali looked back at the Twi'lek who regarded her eagerly. "You brought Bane to this world," she said, Jedi-calm despite Ares' wince. "So you will take him away. I don't care where, or," she added pointedly, "what you do with him when you get there. Just make him gone."

Beneath the sheltering layer of his kit, Traxis'  _shabla_ heart picked up speed. Did she know what she was giving Ares? She must; there was a gleam of good humor in her dark eyes. He ducked his head so no one would see how he fought a smile.

Ares' voice betrayed his surprise. "Of course, I will do as you say. But Bane...he will not come without a fuss."

"You're right," she said thoughtfully. "Hmm. Well, you might need some help wrangling him. Perhaps  _someone_  will volunteer."

Traxis sighed. Could she be any more karking obvious?  _Probably._ Best not to find out just  _how_ much _._ So he cleared his throat. "That can be arranged. How's that shuttle you lot took to the Core? Is there a brig? I didn't think to check."

Stonewall had been scowling at his wife, but at this, his eyes widened and his breath caught. His face shifted like he was trying to smile but not quite managing it. "The  _Sahbr'a_ doesn't have a brig," he said slowly. "But I know something that does."

Kali met his eyes and something wordless passed between them again. Rather than try to suss it out, however, Traxis in turn glanced at Ares, who gave him a look that he thought was meant to convey a sort of helpless astonishment. But he was smiling. Fek, he had a gorgeous smile. Traxis' kriffing heart swelled at the sight.

"So it's settled," Kali said, breaking the two males out of their trance. "There's a few things we need to check on, but I think you can make the trip in a few days, Ares. Assuming," she drawled, "you can find  _someone_ willing to travel with you."

Traxis rolled his eyes, though he noticed Ares'  _lekku_ flushing even as he fought back a grin. "That is more than fair, Kali. Thank you."

She smiled. "In the meantime, we've got about a dozen injured men en route to a half-finished medcenter. So," she clapped her hands once, making the clones and Ares start, "you're officially being drafted into service. Traxis?"

_This cannot fekking be good._  "What?"

"You'll need to supervise Ares until he and Bane leave." Kali winked at him. Obviously, hugely, blatantly kriffing  _winked._ "Can you manage that?"

Ares' ducked his head, one hand curled before his mouth, shoulders trembling in a clear indication that he was trying not to laugh. Stonewall rubbed his forehead.

Traxis wanted to scowl or at least give a nice, hard eye-roll, but it was impossible when his fardling heart was so light. So he shrugged and shot what he hoped was an unreadable look at Ares. "Yeah, I think so."

It wasn't unreadable. Ares' widening smile was proof of that.

* * *

By the time Stonewall made it back to Fives' room, he was in one hell of a mood. Ever since leaving Kali's room at the palace, the day had gone sideways, but apparently there was kriff-all he could do about it. The set of her jaw alone informed him that she would not brook any argument on her decision to let Tabora go free, and Traxis...

He palmed the security panel on Fives' door, alerting the occupant of his presence. Traxis had it bad for the Twi'lek, that much was obvious; even without the Force, Trax was remarkably easy to read once you got to know the guy. But a crush was  _no_ excuse for keeping someone so dangerous around. Stonewall loved his  _vod,_ but his wife and child's safety was paramount.

_But he deserves happiness_ , Kali had chided though their Force-bond, back in Tabora's room.  _He's been through so much, Stone. Let him have this._

Trax  _did_ deserve to be happy. Save a few stolen moments, he'd been alone the entire time Shadow had been a unit, and Stonewall had often wished he could do something about that. But then, he'd been too engrossed in his own love affair to worry overmuch about the others', hadn't he?

The anger swelling through him deflated at the realization, and his shoulders sank. He'd let his brothers down a hundred times over.

A clone voice called from within the room. "Come in."

When Stonewall entered, the room was dark and the shades were drawn. The slice of light from the open door cut through the shadows, where Fives had ensconced himself. The ARC was tucked into a corner; he had no weapon, but carried himself in a ready-stance: fists raised, body slightly bent, feet light.

"Shut the fekking door," he hissed as Stonewall approached.

There was no need to hide his Force-abilities any longer, so Stonewall obligingly waved the door closed, filling the room with darkness again. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, but once they did, Stonewall swept his gaze over the ARC trooper. "Weave said you should be resting."

Fives glared at him. "I've rested enough for a fardling lifetime. A  _civvy_  one."

Nodding, Stonewall withdrew the ARC's comlink, sent along with his kit, and offered it to Fives, who blinked at him. "Rex?" Stonewall prompted.

Fives straightened and snatched the comlink from his hand, though he did not activate it. Instead, he examined it briefly before regarding Stonewall once more. "What did he tell you?"

Stonewall took a place beside him, though he only leaned casually against the wall. "Nothing much. He said your life was in danger and he didn't seem to trust the GAR with it."

"And what do  _you_ think about that?"

Kriff, ARC troopers were all the same; bravado mixed with arrogance and the belief that no other clone was as capable as they. But even so, fear rippled beneath Fives' cocky words, and it was this that made Stonewall measure his answer. Fives had been put into his care, but it was important, somehow, that the man actually  _trust_ him.

"I think he's right," Stonewall said slowly. "I've seen firsthand how fekked up the GAR can be – Milo and I were arrested and sent to Kamino without so much as a demerit – and it took Kali and my  _vode_ breaking Force-knows how many laws to find us. And there are far too many unknowns in that whole scenario to let any of us sleep peacefully."

He still had no idea about Tyranus. It was probably too soon for the Council to have looked into the matter, but Kali had promised she'd investigate on her own. Part of him didn't want to know; ignorance was bliss, after all. But ignorance – willful or otherwise – had laid too much of a claim on him as a shadow. He could not let it continue to do so now.

Fives knew none of this, of course, but nodded at Stonewall's words. "You have the Force," he said at last, frowning. "Or am I really barvy?"

"I have the Force." How easy it was to say now.

"That's why you were sent to Kamino."

Stonewall nodded.

Fives' brow furrowed and he gave Stonewall a speculative look. "So, what can you do? Read minds? Leap tall buildings in a single bound?" A single brow lifted. "You know, I've always wondered about tactical intimacy maneuvers with a Jedi. Yours must be  _very_ pleased–"

Stonewall cleared his throat. "Fives...what happened on Corusc–"

"A little privacy, please," Fives broke in, holding up the comlink.

"I think I have a right to know, at this point."

But Fives ignored him and waved the comlink again. "I said I wanted  _privacy,_ shiny _._ I can make it an order."

Stubborn, fardling ARC troopers. "I have no rank," Stonewall said, shrugging as he turned for the door. "So you can't order me to do  _osik_."

"Fine. Whatever." Fives planted his feet and gave Stonewall a look meant to cut durasteel. "Now move it, trooper."

But beneath that sharp look was a pulsing  _fear,_ and it cut deeper than any blade.

* * *

_Later..._

Crest sipped his water and glanced between his  _vode_. "So...no questions? After that whole story?"

Traxis and Ares exchanged helpless looks. Milo's brow crinkled the way it got when he was thinking  _really_ hard. Weave's expression was distant; had he even been  _listening?_ Kali and Stonewall's eyes were glazed over; no doubt they were having a lively debate through the Force.

The RC's gleaming mess hall was silent. After the news of the incipient early arrivals, it'd been a kriff of a hectic day all around, but Shadow Squad had finally managed to sit down for a meal,  _together,_  for the first time in several days. It'd been the opportune time for Crest to share his experience on Corrie...and maybe get a bit of advice as to how to proceed.

He sighed and picked at his plate of mounder topato rice. "Well, I guess that ominous silence is my answer. Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"It's not  _that_ , Crest," Kali said, breaking out of her trance. She reached across the table to place her hand on his forearm. "We're just...well..."

She looked at Stonewall, whose mouth opened but no sound came out.

"You," Traxis managed, "were asked to be a...representative for those kriffing groupies at CETOC?"

"They're not groupies," Crest replied, sitting a bit straighter. "At least, not any more. They're a legitimate organization now, and I think..." Heat washed through him and he flushed at the  _shabla_ notion. "I think I could help."

Silence. Again. He bit back a frown and shoved his rice into neat little piles.  _Kriff. Am I that useless?_

"I think it's a good idea." Milo's voice was chipper as ever, probably to conceal that he was most definitely sneaking food to the stanging anooba pup at his feet. "You're good with all kinds of people,  _vod._ And you tell the best stories."

"Thanks, Mi," Crest said, smiling at the younger clone.

"Milo's right," Kali added with a squeeze at Crest's wrist. "You handled yourself so well at that press conference. Of course you'd be the best choice for this sort of...endeavor. We were just taken by surprise."

"It  _is_  a pretty strange notion," Crest admitted. "I'm still not sure I didn't hallucinate the entire meeting with the rep from CETOC."

Ares cleared his throat. "See-tock?"

Traxis glanced at the Twi'lek beside him; now  _that_ was one heck of a story, but Kali had been adamant in her decision to trust Ares, and, with the exception of a few dark glances from Stonewall, the squad had followed her example. Old habits and all. She  _was_ a Jedi.

In the back of his mind, Crest was relieved. Ares was a pretty decent fellow, and Trax certainly seemed pleased that he'd be sticking around for a while. And happy Traxis was much more pleasant to live with.

"Citizens for the Ethical Treatment of Clones," Traxis said to his new companion. "It's a group of folks clamoring for clone rights."

The coral-skinned Twi'lek nodded slowly, studying Crest. "A noble cause. You have agreed to do this?"

"Not quite yet, exactly."

"Why not?" Milo asked.

Six pairs of eyes fell upon him – seven, if he counted the anooba – and Crest toyed with his rice a bit more. "It would mean a lot of travel," he said at last. "From the sounds of it, I'd be sent all over the galaxy. Alone."

Had he ever done anything on his own? Not so much. As an ordnance man, Crest had been trained to work in a unit, and then, of course, he'd taken up with Shadow Squad. In all his days, he could not remember one night spent alone.

"I doubt you'd be alone," Kali said gently. "There would probably be assistants, or coordinators, or some sort of personnel–"

"But I wouldn't be with any of  _you_ ," he broke in.

Silence filled the RC's mess hall once more, but it was not the uncomfortable, kriff-did-I-just-say-that kind. Nor was it pity. Just the sound of half a dozen people simultaneously coming to a common realization. Crest sighed again. "I'm no ARC trooper. I can't work without a group. And you lot," he flushed, "are the only ones who've ever been able to tolerate me for any length of time. I can't leave you."

Jedi were fekking  _fast._ He knew this, but it was still a surprise when Kali rose, bolted around the table in the space of a breath, and wrapped her arms around him in a strong embrace.  _Really_ strong. Fek; she was short, but she had one kriff of a grip, didn't she? He glanced at Stonewall, who shrugged as if to say,  _fems, right?_

"Kali," Crest managed to gasp. "Need...breathe..."

The embrace eased but his Jedi- _vod_ did not return to her seat in favor of looking at him with her dark eyes that were clearly on the verge of tears. "Oh, Crest," she said, swiping at her lashes. "You absolutely can work on your own. You're capable of so much."

"And it wouldn't be forever, right?" Stonewall added. Milo and Traxis looked up hopefully.

"No, I guess not." Crest looked at the Jedi and patted her arm. "Kriff, please stop crying. I didn't mean to upset you."

Only she could have managed an eye roll with her face tear-streaked. "It's not you," she sniffed. "It's the hormones. I feel like I'm losing my karking mind."

"My sister said she went through the same thing with her youngest," Ares said from across the table.

Kali smiled at him. "Did it ever pass?"

"Certainly." His  _lekku_ flushed. "But, ah...not until Faye was born."

Stonewall cleared his throat and looked back at Crest. "We'd miss you,  _vod,_ " he said quietly. "But we're all behind you, one-hundred percent."

"Whatever you choose," Kali added with a pat on his back.

Milo smiled at Crest again. "We have your six. Even Kot."

Crest considered his own eye roll, but he was too full of emotion to manage more than a thin smile. Traxis met his eyes and gave him a single nod, which was his way of reiterating what the others had said, then glanced at the medic, seated across from him.

"And you?" Traxis asked.

Apparently the tabletop was fascinating, or at least, Weave found it so, as his eyes were locked onto the smooth surface like lives depended on it. It took Traxis saying his name, then kicking his shin to make him look up, blinking. "Hmm?"

"I'm pregnant," Crest said, lifting his brow. "Just thought you should know."

Weave frowned. "Don't be silly. You don't have the necessary equipment..." He trailed off at the others' snickers and sighed. "Right. Sorry. I was just thinking–"

"Oh, I try to avoid that," Crest broke in with a grin. "It's a terrible habit."

"It's a necessary one," his medic- _vod_ replied sagely.

Kali took her seat again and began to dig into her food with gusto. "How are the nanodroids coming?"

Whenever Weave was on to something, he got a certain gleam in his eyes. He didn't smile, not quite, but Crest had come to recognize the glint of triumph his brother emanated after a particularly intense bout of mental calisthenics.

He had that gleam now, and then some, though his voice was mild. "Well, I've determined how to program them to adjust our telomeres. Now it's a simple matter of," his face twisted in a surprising show of distaste, "testing them."

"Testing them," Stonewall repeated. "On whom?"

The gleam in Weave's eyes faded and he exhaled, long and slow. "It won't be for a while; I've got some more kinks to work out. But when I do...Zero, Trig and Rime have volunteered. Cob's going to help me supervise them."

Stonewall and Milo exchanged a look Crest didn't quite know how to read, but he thought it had something to do with his  _vode's_  time in Sector Nine. Milo's face had gone pale; he looked down at Kot, seated between his feet.

The former captain met Weave's gaze. "What are the risks?"

"I...don't know," Weave admitted. "But if it works..."

"Your aging would be normalized," Kali finished when he trailed off. Her eyes were wide and wet again, and her hands rested on the growing swell of her belly. "All of you. All clones."

Weave nodded slowly. "But we're a long ways off from that."

"But still," she looked at her husband, "there's hope."

No one spoke for a moment until, naturally, Crest broke the silence. "Now... _that's_ a worthy cause." He lifted his glass and nodded to his medic- _vod_ , who flushed. "We'll have to take Misfit out for a night on the town once things settle down here. At least they got to eat dinner at a reasonable hour," he couldn't help adding.

"It made more sense to eat in shifts," Weave replied, sitting straighter. "Upala's volunteers first, then Misfit, then us."

"I don't think you're starving, Baldy," Traxis added with a jab at Crest's side.

"Ouch,  _vod,_ " Crest sighed, rubbing the abused area. "Way to cut me to the quick. Maybe I  _should_  leave."

Traxis went still and looked at his plate. "I'd miss you, _di'kut,_ " he muttered in Mando'a.

"Me too," Milo added in Basic.

"And me," Weave said. "But you have a good reason. A worthy one."

Stonewall nodded. "One-hundred percent,  _vod._ Never forget that."

Kriff, his whole face was hot and he knew he was flushing like  _shabla_ kark, but Crest couldn't help it. Never had he  _belonged_ somewhere, so well; never had he thought he'd have to leave. "Thank you," he managed. "But I haven't made up my mind yet. And it wouldn't be for months, at least.  _And_  we're about to need all hands on deck here..."

Her voice rose from someplace behind him, so soft and sudden, he thought he was dreaming all over again. "If you have an opportunity to do any bit of good," Sita said, stepping into his field of vision to the table's head. "You should not let it pass. If you believe in this cause, you should see it through."

She was decked out in full formal regalia: golden headdress, though less fancy than when she was queen; elaborate, twining braids that he'd dreamed of unraveling; body wrapped in enough lavender shimmersilk to make an Alderaani debutant weep with envy. But her eyes on him were pure, sweet  _Sita,_ and he could not look away.

"Sound advice," he managed after a too-long look. "Thank you."

"I apologize for coming so late," Sita said to Kali. "My meeting ran long. But I see significant progress has been made here."

"Oh, yes," Kali said, nodding to the seat beside her. "It's early yet, but I think we'll be in good shape once Altis' transfers arrive."

"Sort of a test run for when the RC's really up and running," Weave added.

"I was going to discuss that with you," Sita said, looking around the table – at everyone but Crest. "I'd hoped to have a ceremony for the grand opening. Would that be acceptable?"

As the others chattered, Crest looked down at his food, appetite gone, decision made. Maybe she did care about him. Maybe he cared about her. But it was crazy, right? And he'd said... And she'd said... He sighed. It could never work. He wasn't good enough. He'd never been.

_Crazy_ , he thought, shaking his head once.  _Ah, well._  It would be good to leave this particular part of himself behind.

That was the plan, anyway.

* * *

A/N: After this update, I'll be taking a brief posting hiatus in the wake of some Real Life stuff going down. (All good, just time consuming.) Postings will continue Friday, November 13th.

Thank you for reading, and stay awesome! :)


	59. Chapter Fifty-Eight

Bear in mind that this fic is AU, which will be come increasingly apparent from here on out. :)

Lyrics: ["Give Yourself Over," by John Brown's Body, from  _Amplify._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=icoYU46B6MQ)

* * *

**Chapter Fifty-Eight**

_Help yourself out of the hole you lie,_

_Give yourself something you've been denied,_

_We can move further through bending tides,_

_Pray that we go quick,_

_Or we sleep in fire._

For Stonewall, the next couple of days passed in a blur. Between getting the Rehabilitation Center ready for incoming transfers, to actually dealing with those transfers, to taking care of his pregnant Jedi-wife who kriffing  _refused_ to take it easy, to moving himself and his family to the permanent living quarters on the RC grounds...

Well, it was a wonder he had the energy to satisfy Kali's increasing libido. He'd heard pregnancy was exhausting, but he'd never considered it'd be so for  _him._ Not that he minded; there were certainly worse problems a man could have than an insatiable wife.

He was reminded of this fact after dinner one night, as he stood in the palace hangar and regarded the ship he'd stolen. Lean and sharply angled, the light freighter reminded him of a bird of prey poised to strike, though it was bigger in his memory. How many hours had he stalked through the corridors, desperate to be on the move but terrified to show his face to the world beyond the bulkhead?

The loading ramp was lowered but his feet refused to carry him forward. He'd killed the previous owner right there on that ramp and dumped his body in hyperspace. He'd given the fellow's wife the same treatment. Both of them, dead at his hands. And for what? A lie. It had all been a lie. His guts twisted.

But he had to do this. It was the only way to set matters right. After some mental chiding, he took a single step.

But that was all.

Footsteps broke through the quiet of the hangar; Traxis and Ares' Force-presences followed a beat later. "That is the ship?" Ares was saying as the two approached. Trax must have nodded, for he let out a low whistle. "She is beautiful. Corellian-made,  _Hawk_ series, yes?"

"Fek if I know." Traxis came to stand beside Stonewall, who did not miss the way his  _vod_ kept himself between Ares and the former captain.

"I don't know, either," Stonewall admitted, frowning at the vessel. "I never bothered to check when..."

He trailed off, unable to form the words.

But Ares regarded him with warm brown eyes that held nothing but kindness. "Traxis told me a little of what passed while you were...away."

Stonewall tightened his jaw and nodded to the ship. "Let's get to it. Maybe you can make yourself useful."

Annoyance spiked through Trax's Force-presence, but Ares' voice was light. "Perhaps I can, though my true usefulness remains elusive, even to me."

Inside the ship everything was the same. Stonewall –  _Shadow_ – had not made the effort to do more than absolutely necessary. There was still the original owners' laundry hanging from lines throughout the cargo hold. No one spoke as the trio made their way to the cockpit, which was littered with old caf cups and empty trays of heat-to-eat meals. It smelled...not great.

Trax wrinkled his nose and looked at Stonewall, who thought he saw in his brother's eyes the first real inkling of just what his life as a shadow had meant. But Ares made a direct heading for the pilot's seat, settled in, and began tapping at the control panel.

"Can you find out who it's registered to?" Traxis asked, coming to stand behind Ares.

The Twi'lek nodded, eyes darting over the information streaming across the control panel's screen. "I believe so. The current owners are...?"

"Dead," Stonewall managed.

Ares nodded again. "The Bureau of Ships and Services keeps extensive records on all vessels, which is not to say the records are entirely, ah, _accurate._ But, generally, a ship's owner will leave some indication of whom to pass the vessel to, should the worst...here we are."

A woman's face appeared on the screen; a Kiffar, judging by the swirling yellow tattoo on her cheek. Blue eyes stared at the clones and Ares, and a chill passed over Stonewall. "That's the owner's next-of-kin?"

"It appears that way. 'Diella Malak.' She is listed as the sister of one 'Reis Malak.'"

Traxis leaned forward, squinting at the screen. "Says she lives on Brentaal. That's not far from Corrie."

"Indeed." Ares glanced at Stonewall. "I thought to deliver Bane to Coruscant. It would be no hardship to return this ship to Miss Malak on the return trip."

"But how the fek would  _we_  get back?" Traxis asked, frowning.

At this, Ares'  _lekku_ flushed and he looked back at the screen. "Ah...the bounty on Cad Bane would be more than sufficient to procure some sort of transport."

_In other words, you want to buy back your own ship._ But Stonewall could not summon the energy to be even a little irritated at the notion, so he nodded slowly, eyes still fixed on Diella Malak's face. So it was her brother that he'd killed. Reis Malak. Could he look in her eyes and tell her,  _I murdered your brother, but here's his ship back?_

He ran a hand through his hair and leaned against the ship's console, suddenly too tired to support his own weight. "I'm not sure when I can go," he said at last, shaking his head. "Kali's in a rough stage, and Fives..."

He trailed off. Fives had not spoken more than a handful of words to him since that day he'd comm'd Rex. Stonewall had no idea what they'd talked about, but he didn't think Rex would have said anything to make Fives mistrust him to such a degree. So whatever the ARC felt was purely his own.

A warm hand on his shoulder made him look up, into Trax's eyes. "She's been pretty kriffing tired lately, hasn't she?"

Until the moment she woke up from a good night's sleep; then she was all over him. But on her feet all day at the RC left her exhausted, and the added strain on her body could not have been good. Weave and Upala said she and their son were in perfect health, but he couldn't help but worry. He'd even considered comm'ing Honi, but hadn't quite resorted to that end. Yet.

So he nodded. "The second trimester is harder for some women than the first. At least, that's what I hear. She's..." He sighed. "Stubborn. She says she's fine, but..."

Ares gave him a soft smile. "She is a resilient woman, from what I can tell. But your duty is to your wife, my friend. You should not leave her side."

"But," Stonewall frowned, " _I_ stole this ship. I murdered its owners. I should be the one to return it."

Traxis shifted beside him, clearly uneasy. "He's got a point, Ares..."

But Ares leaned into the chair, running his eyes along the instrument panels before him, though his gaze was more distant this time. "Why did you kill this vessel's owners, if I may ask?"

"I...needed a ship," Stonewall managed. "I had orders to carry out. I had no other choice." Or so he had thought.  _Willful ignorance, or stupidity?_ Perhaps they were the same thing, in his case.

"You had no other choice," Ares repeated, sighing heavily. "I would like to judge you for your actions, Stonewall. Quite harshly, too, especially as someone whose ship was so recently taken from him. But," he dropped his gaze, "I find there is no room inside of me for judgment. You went to weigh your options, but found them lacking. I cannot fault you for acting how you did."

The words fell softly upon the bulkhead, made more so, perhaps, because of Ares' Ryl accent. The Force sang out his regret as a bitter sound, though it was faded and frayed, as if it'd been exposed to the elements for too long.

By contrast, Traxis glowed in the Force. The golden light that shone through his presence filled Stonewall's mind's eye, and it was focused upon Ares. Stonewall considered the Twi'lek's words and found them acceptable. More than, actually. A bit humbling. The Force did not lie. Neither did Ares Tabora.

And Traxis fell a little harder with each word.

Stonewall skimmed a hand over the console; he'd spent so many hours here, staring at hyperspace without seeing it, trying desperately to sort out his thoughts and fragmented memories. It was surreal to be back, now that he was almost whole – again.

At last he met Ares' gaze. "You're willing to return this ship without me accompanying you?"

Ares' eyes crinkled with his good humor, though he did not smile fully. "I am, indeed. It is," a heaviness settled over his aura, "the least I can do, for you and your family. Please believe that," he added quietly.

Stonewall studied him a moment, then looked at Traxis, who straightened under his scrutiny. Kriff; he was so sharp, usually, but there was a new kind of softness to him when he was near Ares Tabora. It was not love – yet. But Trax was well on his way. And he did look happy, at least through the lens of the Force.

Stonewall smiled at his  _vod_  and jerked his chin to Ares. "What do you think?" he asked in Mando'a.

Traxis narrowed his eyes and Stonewall could practically  _hear_ the words:  _You have the effing Force; you tell me._ But no. Traxis only smiled, faintly. "I haven't known him very long, but he's always told me the truth," he said in Basic. "Even when I didn't want to hear it."

Ares'  _lekku_ flushed again and he looked away. Stonewall considered them both, then nodded once. "Alright. I would be grateful if you would take this ship to Miss Malak."

"It is outfitted for a bounty hunter," Ares said, sitting up. "So we should have no trouble containing Bane..." He hesitated, his eyes flickering to Trax before meeting Stonewall's again. "I am grateful for your trust, Stonewall. I will endeavor to prove it is not misplaced."

It wasn't. He had proof enough of that, already, but only nodded and rose from leaning against the console. "Good to hear. When will you set out?"

Ares and Traxis exchanged glances, and Stonewall bit back a smile at the wordless communication that passed between them – and at the increasing happy glow that emanated from his scarred brother. At last Traxis met his eyes. "A few days, I think. I'd like to get Altis' transfers settled in before I go traipsing to the Core."

"I was thinking the same thing. Great minds, eh, my friend?" Ares smiled at Trax, who – to Stonewall's astonishment and pleasure – actually flushed. He ducked his head, too, but not before Stonewall caught the beginnings of a massive grin coming to his face.

No, there was no reason to be angry with Ares any longer. For one thing, there was no danger from him, at least that Stonewall could sense. For another, it was worth even the tiny potential of danger to see Traxis smiling that way. Stonewall looked around the ship again, his heart a little lighter. Sending his  _vod_ and Ares wasn't quite as "right" as returning it himself, but it was a good start.

* * *

Two weeks later, the rest of the GAR transfers arrived. Life at the Rudral Rehabilitation Center was hectic, even for a Jedi like Kali, who'd spent many years in much more intense situations. But despite the constant, sobering reminders of the cost of the Wars, life was sweet. Her days were consumed with tending to injured clones; her nights were spent in her husband's arms. Though she was exhausted – most of the time – never had she been as content in the center of a maelstrom.

"Thank you, General." Sergeant Adze, of the 212th, accepted the mug of tea with a stiff nod; what remained of his left arm, securely wrapped in linen, twitched slightly, as if eager to add a salute to the gesture.

Kali smiled in return. She'd long since gotten past asking the men to call her by her name, and though the title of 'General' still grated, the respect with which it was uttered was humbling. "Is there anything else you need, Sergeant?"

The ordnance man glanced around the room. Night had fallen and the lamps were lit, throwing the small space into shades of gold. His roommate was doing a stint in bacta for the night, so it was just Adze and Kali for the moment. When he looked at her again, the Force flickered with his disbelief – and hope.

"You've done more than..." He trailed off, eyes falling on his missing arm, before he cleared his throat and straightened, impossibly, further. "No, thank you, General Halcyon."

"If you need anything," she indicated the remote resting next to his remaining hand, "don't hesitate to call."

Adze nodded again, though his brows knitted as he regarded her. "The others have said something about...work programs once I'm healed?"

"It's still early days, but several local artisans and professionals have agreed to host clones as apprentices or trainees, to give you some skills beyond what you learned in the GAR. Is there something you have an interest in?"

"I can hardly say, sir. I've never considered it. But," he frowned at his stump, "I suppose I should make myself useful in some way, now that I can't handle dets any longer."

Her throat tightened at his steady tone, a sharp contrast to the hot pricks of sorrow and bitterness woven through his Force-presence. But he revealed none of those emotions to her, so she tried to return the favor; each clone dealt with their new futures differently.

She rested a hand, carefully, on his right shoulder. "It might take time, but I know we'll find a place for you."

Some of the bitterness faded at her words, and the edges of his sorrow eased under her touch, though he flushed and looked away. "Thank you, sir. I would like to believe that."

"I hope you are able to, one day soon." She squeezed his shoulder gently before bidding him goodnight and stepping out of his room. This late, the RC's corridors were quiet. Only a few of Upala's volunteers were on duty at the moment; none of the patients here were in critical status, so there was not much of a need for a full staff at all hours.

But it was...well, it was  _too_ quiet for Kali's liking. The staff were diligent, and there was usually  _someone_ at the wing's main station. Kali reached through the eddies and currents of the Force and found a collection of people in one of the waiting areas around the corner; their emotions were high, fevered. Frightened.

When she reached the waiting room, it was crammed with volunteers, Arunai and others, and a few clones as well, all of whom were fixated upon the room's single flatscreen, affixed about two meters up along the wall. Kali approached the nearest group of people, who included Tejaal, and frowned at the flatscreen.

"What's–"

At least half a dozen people simultaneously  _shushed_  her while not pulling their gazes from the screen. Frowning, Kali studied the flatscreen as well, but all she saw was an aerial shot of Coruscant and the Senate building.

"The Chancellor," Tejaal murmured. "He was abducted by General Grievous and Count Dooku."

Kali blinked at the Arunai woman. She must have been more tired than she realized, for Tejaal's words did not land. "What?"

Rather than reply, Tejaal jerked her chin at the screen. Now there was a picture of the Chancellor stepping off a small shuttle, soot-stained and scuffed, but apparently no worse for the wear. Behind him, nearly out of cam range, was...

"Obi-Wan," Kali breathed, mouth falling open as Ben seemed to cling to the shuttle's door. There was Anakin as well, smiling into the holocameras, looking every bit the lauded Hero With No Fear.

"It happened  _two_  days ago, apparently," Tejaal said softly. "There was even a battle above Coruscant."

"I had no idea," Kali replied. Had she been  _that_ busy, to not have noticed such an event?

"No one in the Rim did," another volunteer said, frowning. "The HNN only just released the footage to everyone beyond the Core. Something about kriffing security protocols. We just learned of it."

Another volunteer spoke. "Skywalker killed Grievous, but Dooku fled. Apparently the Jedi have sent Kenobi after him..."

But Kali hardly heard. She closed her eyes and reached through the Force, searching for the thread that bound her to Obi-Wan; though she could see that he was alive, she had to truly  _know._ There! It was faint, as distance pulled it taut, but it glowed softly, strong, nonetheless. She was too tired to reach him in any verbal way, but sent a portion of her love along the thread, hoping he'd understand.

She was pulled back to reality by a familiar voice and a warm hand on her hip. "It's almost over, isn't it?"

"I hope so." Kali leaned into Stonewall's chest, content to let his presence surround her. Indeed, he wrapped an arm fully around her waist and smoothed back her hair before kissing her cheek.

"If anyone can defeat that  _chakaar,_  Dooku," he added into her ear, "it's Obi-Wan Kenobi."

The flatscreen now showed an image of Dooku, speaking before an assembled crowd. The volume was loud, but Kali had stopped listening. She knew Obi-Wan well, almost better than herself, and logically, she knew Stone was right. Obi-Wan Kenobi, High General and Jedi Master, was a living legend – and rightfully so. But he was also  _Ben_ , her dearest friend, and he was on his way to face one of the most dangerous men in the galaxy. Alone.

_Not alone,_ Stonewall said through their bond, still focused on her.  _Cody's got his six._

_A force to be reckoned with, then,_  she sent back.

He pulled her closer.  _Very much so._ Aloud, he said, "You were supposed to be back at our rooms two hours ago."

"I got caught up," she said, turning to face him. "Adze is having a difficult time adjusting. I wanted to make sure he was well. And I still need to write Milo's recommendation for the Rangers."

Stone's serious face regarded her. "There will always be someone who needs help, but you have to take care of yourself, too."

"Your husband is right, Kali," Tejaal added, though she did not look at Stonewall. "You must rest, for the little one's sake."

Kali opened her mouth to reply when Stonewall's body froze. "Turn that up," he said sharply, loud enough to reach across the assembled staff. A few folks shot him curious glances, but he ignored them and lifted his hand; moments later, the volume on the flatscreen increased, and Count Dooku's voice reverberated across them all.

" _Even though I knew that the Senate was corrupt, the Council was fallible, and Jedi training methods far from perfect, I remained with the Jedi Order for twelve years after Galidraan. Why? Because I still believed that I could accomplish some good as a Jedi. I thought I could bring about some positive changes, right certain wrongs, and do better than maintain the status quo. In short, I was an utter fool._ "

From what she could tell, it was older footage, probably from the beginning of the Wars at some Separatist rally. Beside her, Stonewall did not move, barely breathed. His eyes were round and his lips were slightly parted, and he was transfixed by a cold sort of horror that she'd never felt from him before.

"Stone?"

He ignored her. Only when she touched his arm did he react, violently snapping away from her hand and taking a step backward. "Fek," he muttered, shaking his head before holding it in his hands. "Fek..."

"Stonewall." Fear pulsed through her, but she kept her voice – and Force-presence – calm.

"Kriffing hell...it's him. It's  _him_."

"Who?"

But Stonewall only shook his head again and his voice stuttered. "It's...I didn't know..."

After a few curious glances from the others, Kali risked another hand upon his shoulder and tried to urge him to a more private area. He resisted at first, then relaxed into her touch and followed her lead. They slipped out of the waiting room and into an empty corridor.

Kali took her husband's hand in hers and rested her other hand upon his cheek, silently urging him to meet her eyes.  _Stonewall, please look at me._

He did, albeit reluctantly, and she saw why at once. Pupils tight with fear and shame, he was no longer  _Stonewall,_ but  _Shadow_ , and he trembled. "It's him, Kali," he whispered hoarsely. "Tyranus. Dooku. They're the same man."

Dread gripped icy fingers around her heart. "You're certain?"

"I will never forget his voice." He met her eyes and sucked in a breath like a drowning man breaching the surface of an ocean. "It's him. It's Tyranus. It's the man who ordered me to..."

The words trailed off, but Kali was already going for her comlink. Her fingers shook as she entered Ben's familiar code, but after several frantic moments of no response, she switched tactics. Obi-Wan was on his way to kill Dooku, but Mace, in all likelihood, was still at the Temple. But he did not respond either. Neither did Honi, Yoda, Luminara, Quinlan or even Kit, whom she'd not spoken to since Basrah, nearly two years ago.

Through all of this, Stonewall's gaze was riveted on the comlink; at last, when she sighed and clenched the device in her palm, he straightened. "I'd heard Dooku's voice, Before, but not recently. I only just made the connection."

Her heart ached at the guilt emanating from him. "It's alright," she said, putting a hand on his arm. "You did your best. There was no way you could have known."

He nodded once, though his heart was not in it, and his next words were not a question. "Something's happening."

Kali closed her eyes and reached through the Force, along the threads that bound her to Honi, to Obi-Wan, to Mace. But she was so tired, and the Force was a vast ocean, and she was far from all of them. "Yes," she said softly. "But I don't know what."

"Nothing good." His voice was dark as he stood at parade-rest, ostensibly calm, though the Force belied his anxiety.

"I don't know what else we can do. I've left them messages..." Suddenly her feet ached and she glanced around for the nearest chair, though she had a feeling if she sat she would not get up for hours. But her thoughts buzzed in useless circles even as her body had reached its limit. Kali rubbed her forehead, where a headache was starting to bloom.

This seemed to snap Stonewall out of the last traces of his fear, for he slipped his arm around her waist. "Come on. There's nothing more we can do right now. Let's get you to bed."

"I thought you said you weren't a  _shabla_ machine?" She could not help but tease him, even now, though she allowed herself to be ushered towards the wing that housed the permanent rooms.

Stonewall's Force-presence brightened with his amusement, though his voice was serious. "You're up for  _that_ , are you?"

"No..." She yawned even as she spoke; it was a huge yawn, the kind that shook her bodily. "But you're just so nice to hold."

Now he chuckled, briefly, and kissed her forehead. "You can hold me all you want,  _Kali'ka_. But now you need to rest."

* * *

A few hours later, Stonewall lay beside his sleeping Jedi-wife and stared into the shadows of their room. Kali had fallen asleep almost the moment she'd hit the pillow, but he was not so fortunate.

A sleek, sharp voice slunk through his thoughts.  _"You have done well, trooper."_

Tyranus and Dooku; one and the same. He was such an utter, complete fool.

_But how could you have known?_ The thought sounded like Kali's voice in his mind; he wanted to take comfort in the words, but guilt gnawed at him, relentlessly. He should have sought more information, asked more questions. He should not have fallen into the pattern of following orders because it was easy, or comforting. He should have been stronger. Smarter.

_"_ _You have done well, trooper. You have passed the first test. But there will be more."_

No, he would never forget that voice, though in this moment, he wished he could.

_But then you would not know the truth._  Her voice, again, soft and warm as her hand upon his arm. Stonewall glanced at her, just in case, but she was sleeping peacefully, her body curled around a massive pillow. Her dark hair fanned out behind her and her lashes fluttered in her dreams, and her Force-presence was still and quiet as a mountain lake. Their son, too, slept, and Stonewall allowed himself a few moments to savor their bright spirits.

The past was gone, indelibly written in stone. The future was in motion; it would never truly come, would it? Only be shaped by the present, by this moment,  _now._

Somewhere in the depths of his awareness, the Force echoed,  _now._

He was upright before he registered the fact, but once he did, the urge to be moving overtook him. Stonewall dressed silently, throwing on fatigues and grabbing his boots, before slipping out of his and Kali's quarters. He paused once, leaning against the door frame to the soon-to-be nursery to lace his boots, and hurried into the night.

His family had taken up residence in the permanent quarters in the RC, and it was a relief to be away from the palace, which was pretty, he supposed, but rather confining. Here, though, in the heart of Rudral, he was more at ease, though he would have liked a home somewhere...quieter. Perhaps near an ocean, or a forest. Somewhere he could move freely.

The RC was spread across a wide courtyard that also served as a hangar; it was a few minutes' walk through the thick night to the facility. He met no one else, which was a good thing, as he did not know why, exactly, he was here. But the more he walked, the stronger the Force compelled him to move, and his pace quickened.

At last he reached the RC proper, entered, and slid through the shadowed hallways on silent, Force-shielded steps. Not until he passed by a gleaming window and saw no reflection did he realize he'd even called up the shield. It was second nature, now. Strange. But he didn't dwell on the fact more than a moment, for ahead was Fives' door.

He paused outside, considering. It would be  _crinking_ foolish to sneak into a trooper's room, much less a paranoid ARC trooper's. But silence was almost as great a compulsion as whatever had driven him here, so he knocked once, softly.

Fives' reply was immediate, though muffled by the door. "What?"

"It's Stonewall. I just want to talk."

A pause, then the door slid open, revealing the ARC trooper. Fives swept his gaze over Stonewall and frowned. "What the  _shab_ are you doing here so late?"

"I..." Stonewall frowned. "I don't really know. The Force–"

But Fives was rolling his eyes, and broke in before he could finish. "Right. The Force told you to pay me a visit in the middle of the kriffing night. I'd think you were interested if I hadn't seen your wife. Hey, she's not here, is she?" He poked his head out of the room and glanced around the hallway almost eagerly. "Now  _she's_ a Jedi I would happily serve under. You're a lucky  _di'kut_."

Stonewall cleared his throat. "Can I come in?"

Rather than reply, Fives studied him a long moment before stepping aside. Stonewall entered, the door slid shut behind him, and they were alone. Fives stood a few paces away, just out of reach, arms crossed before his chest, eyes fixed on Stonewall with a strangely unreadable expression. The Force flowed around him, frothing with his anxiety for all that he kept his face from revealing his emotions.

"So?" Fives said after a beat. "What brings you away from your wife's bed to me? It's not really the Force, is it?"

Stonewall sighed and rubbed his temples, where Tyranus' –  _Dooku's_ – voice still echoed. "You heard about all the  _osik_ that went down in the Core?"

Fives' brows knitted as he withdrew his comlink from his pocket. "Yeah, that fardling mess. I couldn't get a hold of Rex, but Kix said he and Torrent were mostly unscathed."

"You think the Wars will be over soon?"

Fives shrugged. "Assuming Kenobi knocks out Dooku, sure. Don't know what that means for us, though." His gaze turned distant.

Nodding, Stonewall looked around the room again, searching for... Well, he didn't know. But something. And it was here. At last his eyes fell on Fives' comlink, rolling gently through the ARC's palms. "What happened?"

"When?"

"You know when."

Fives did not look at him. "Rex hardly spoke to me. That first time I comm'd, I mean. And the second. And then, he stopped taking my calls altogether. I think..." His fist closed over the comlink. "I think he's more afraid than he'll let on. And he should be."

Stonewall's stomach clenched at the dark edge to Fives' words. "Why?"

"Because it's big. So much bigger than any of us could imagine – even your Jedi-wife."

"What's big?"

Fives' voice was quiet and his eyes were hard and sharp as broken glass. "It involves all of us – clones, Jedi – and...the Chancellor. We're tools, Stonewall. Means to an end."

"Yes, we're soldiers–"

" _No,_ " Fives growled, stepping close enough for Stonewall to see the red striations in his eyes, remnants of too many sleepless nights. "We're  _not_  effing soldiers. We're weapons, with  _one_  karking purpose. Do you know what it is?"

Stonewall swallowed but his throat was tight. The Force wove through the space between him and the ARC. "No."

"Neither do I." Fives laughed a hollow laugh and tapped his temple. "The answer's in our heads, though. Locked up tighter than a Jedi's panties. Well," he amended, winking at Stonewall. " _Some_ Jedi's panties."

Through the room, threading around and between the clones, was the Force, and it pulled Stonewall closer _._ Frowning, Stonewall studied the other man, trying to  _listen_ to what he was trying to say rather than the other  _osik_. "What do you mean, 'in our heads?'"

"Biochips," Fives said sagely, though his face fell in the next moment. "Tucked away in all of us, even the vatlings. And we say we aren't fekking programmed, don't we? But it's a lie. Poor  _di'kut_ never had a chance. I tried,  _vod,_ I really did. But they're stronger than we are."

"Who's stronger?"

"One purpose," Fives continued, shaking his head. "'An army of one man, but the right man for the job.' Jango was a Mando, right? I wonder if that's why they chose him? Mandos are Jedi-killers, after all."

He sighed heavily and leaned against the wall, rubbing his temple again. "One purpose, Stonewall. You don't know. I don't either, or Rex, or... But  _he_ knows. He knows, but he won't tell. I saw it in his eyes. Darkness, just like the nightmares. They never stopped," he added, looking up at Stonewall, frowning but suddenly calm. "Just drifted away for a little while. This is a nice place to get lost. But they returned. Echoes, you know." He laughed again, but his eyes were wet.

Through the tirade, Stonewall listened to Fives' words, but also their accompanying Force echoes, hoping to suss out something coherent from the increasingly strange ramblings. Fear, yes, there was fear, and lots of it, but also frustration and despair, and, oddly, triumph. It was the sort of satisfaction a man felt when happening upon the inevitable.

After a beat he found his own voice. "You mentioned the Chancellor?"

Fives snorted, all ARC brassiness once more. "Met with him myself. He's a strange one. I looked in his eyes, and do you know what I saw?" He shook his head and answered his own question before Stonewall could respond. "Nothing. Not even my own karking reflection. Like looking into a void. What kind of a man has nothing behind his eyes?"

"I don't know," Stonewall said slowly. "I don't think I've ever met the Chancellor. Not formally, anyway." There'd been a fancy event on Alderaan that he and Kali had attended, months and months ago now; the Chancellor had been there, too, but he'd not said a word to the then-captain or his Jedi general. Stonewall's memory of Before was still spotty, but he hoped he'd have remembered  _that._

Fives rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. "Fek, I'm exhausted. If I could  _sleep,_ even for a fardling hour, I'd be alright. But..."

"The nightmares," Stonewall said when the other clone trailed off.

Fives scowled. "No. Nightmares are part of the ride, right? They don't keep me up any longer. No," he held up the comlink, "it's this little  _shabuir_  that keeps me awake. I keep thinking Rex will comm, or...someone else."

"Someone else?"

"Never mind," Fives said, rolling his eyes. "Here." He thrust the comlink in Stonewall's direction. "Keep it for the night. Maybe then I can rest. If Rex comms, tell him I said to eff off, and that I'll call back later."

Stonewall accepted the device. It was a standard GAR issue comlink, the likes of which he'd not seen since he was arrested. Most clones had a plethora of communication systems included in their kits, both in their HUDs and wrist-comms. But some, mostly ARCs and officers, were given handheld comlinks like this one, just in case.

He tucked it into his belt and regarded Fives once more. "Get some rest,  _vod._ "

Fives exhaled deeply, but nodded and stepped for the bed. He sat and began to tug off his boots, then paused to look at Stonewall. "It's good to hear that word. I always forget how much it means until there's no one left to say it."

There was no frantic desperation in his voice now, nor in his Force-presence. Only exhaustion, as if he'd been wrung dry. Stonewall sent a small pulse of soothing Force-energy his way, hoping to ease his passage into sleep. "You'll hear it many more times," he said gently. "I promise."

"You promise, eh?" Fives chuckled and shook his head. "Only a shiny makes promises in war."

"Not this time," Stonewall replied.

* * *

He left Fives' room as he'd come, cloaked in shadows. But his thoughts buzzed and the comlink was heavy in his belt. What compulsion he'd felt from the Force had faded, leaving him strangely empty and full, all at once. Empty, for the lack of purpose. Full, for what he'd learned.

When he reached his and Kali's bed, he slipped out of his boots and fatigues, set the comlink on the small table beside him, and curled into his wife, content, for now, to lose himself in sleep.

* * *

At last.

Across the stars, Palpatine stood aside and Sidious drew himself up to face his enemies, those fools playing at the Force, those  _Jedi._ Three lay dead at his feet, twisted and scorched from his saber's kiss. One had been thrown clear beyond the window, and he could not feel Windu any longer.

A fourth retreated, steps slow and measured and filled with purpose, dark cloak swirling like a shadow behind. Vader. At last, a worthy apprentice. Pleasure crackled through Sidious, filled him with delight so sharp it cut. But he would not bleed. Oh, no. That time was past. There had been a few minor setbacks, but he was stronger, smarter. He would triumph.

The time was now. He'd waited so long, but no more.

Darth Sidious activated the holotransceiver on his desk and said, clearly, "Execute Order Sixty-Six."

* * *

A/N: Always get a little chill writing those words!

Dooku's speech was taken directly from his Wookieepedia page. I couldn't tell the context, so I took some creative license.


	60. Chapter Fifty-Nine

Lyrics: ["Zion Triad," by John Brown's Body, from  _Amplify._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g5Y8IPIFbL8&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp&index=60)

* * *

**Chapter Fifty-Nine**

_You have convicted us,_

_But we've committed no crime that you say,_

_And you cannot ever stop the flood,_

_I guarantee._

_You're so predictable,_

_But you make a critical mistake,_

_Can't allow fear to be our fate._

Stonewall awoke to the blinking comlink. In those first moments before his eyes opened, it could have been any day during the Wars; he'd receive orders and carry them out, as a good soldier would. As a good soldier  _should._

But his eyes opened into the darkness of his and Kali's room, illuminated only by a flashing green light emanating from Fives' comlink on his bedside table. It took him a moment to remember he'd turned the sound function off, to not disturb Kali's sleep. Yawning, Stonewall reached for the device. One message waited, marked  _[PRIORITY URGENT]_ , sent with a source code that looked vaguely familiar. He sat up and activated the transmission.

A holographic figure bloomed. A voice like boots on gravel spoke. "Execute Order Sixty-Six."

Stonewall's stomach turned to ice. His heart began to race even as a fierce headache sprang as if from nowhere, starting just behind his temple and to the right. He stared at the holographic figure, searching for some clue... A man in a robe; a voice he did not quite recognize. Not Tyranus. But still...familiar.

Unbidden, his hand crept to his waist, though there was no holster nor weapon to be found. Understanding swept upon him like a cold, crashing wave.  _The Chancellor._

_Execute Order Sixty-Six._ He knew, of course. All clones knew. But it was one of those bits of knowledge that had no meaning until it did.

The headache turned into a throb as his blood beat with an urge he refused to heed. Kali still slept peacefully beside him; her hair had fallen over her nose, so he gently brushed it aside.  _Lethal force._

This woman, a danger to the Republic? He wanted to laugh at the very idea. It was madness. Or a mistake. Surely...

But the Force coiled around him, pressing upon his very being. He wanted to shrink away; wanted to run, to hide from this weight, because it would break him. He'd broken so easily, Before. He would again. He was not fit for weapons any longer. He was not fit to be a soldier.

But the Force sang,  _Hold._

_Hold._ Not so much a command as the pricking of instinct: stop, listen, wait.  _Think_.

Though the throbbing in his skull urged him to seize the nearest blaster and react, Stonewall ignored the compulsion and considered the situation. He exhaled and in doing so, released his shame and fear into the Force. Clarity came swiftly, and with it the understanding that fear and shame were shadows marring his vision. He needed to push through. He needed to  _think,_ not simply react as he'd done Before.

The Chancellor. Tyranus. Order Sixty-Six. They were all connected, somehow. Living weapons, Fives had called the clones. Jedi-killers. His fist closed around the comlink.

At this very moment, hundreds, possibly thousands of clones were receiving the same order, but making a vastly different decision. The Force pressed tightly around him, closer than armor.

And he knew what he had to do.

There was no room for doubt. It was not his life, or even Kali's or their son's, that was at stake. His  _vode_ slept safely nearby. Everyone he loved was  _here._ But he had a duty beyond them.

It didn't matter that he'd not meditated in months. It didn't matter that he was not so strong in the Force, when compared to a true Jedi. All that mattered was this moment.  _Hold._

He inhaled and gathered what strength he could, searching for the threads that bound him to the other clones he'd served with during his life. In his mind's eye, those threads stretched from him across the stars; filaments formed by brotherhood, loyalty, and love, shining gold, though they wavered in the growing darkness of the galaxy. There were too many to name and most were faint, so he sought the strongest outside of Shadow Squad.

Stonewall drew the Force closer, gathering it to himself like a tide-pulled wave, and stretched out, reaching with everything he had, to pluck the closest, brightest thread.

Cody.

_Hold._

* * *

"Execute Order Sixty-Six."

Obi-Wan frowned, not at the holographic image that had bloomed at Cody's wrist, but at the sudden, sweeping cold that had overtaken the clone. "Commander?"

Cody's T-visor reflected the image of a robed Humanoid for a long, long moment. Too long, considering the battle that raged around them. Dooku was defeated; the Wars all but ended, save for this last gasp. Obi-Wan had just finished clipping his lightsaber to his belt and was preparing to mount his varactyl once more. But Cody held perfectly still. The Force, though, roiled within him, a maelstrom of confusion and fear, and, oddly, anger. Odd, as Cody was quite a calm man, even in the heat of a fight.

"Commander?"

Blaster fire screamed on all sides, tainting the air with hot metal and the acrid tang of plasma. The creaking of durasteel joints wove between the varactyl, Boga's, impatient whine; her Force-aura sang with anticipation and eagerness, ready as she was to carry on the fight. But something urged Obi-Wan,  _Wait._

A few stray shots found their way toward him and the man who'd fought at his side for three years; he deflected them all with a wave of his saber. "Cody? What is it?"

Not until he placed a soot-streaked hand upon Cody's shoulder-bell did the commander jerk as if he'd been stung. "Obi-Wan!"

Never had Cody called him by his name. That, alone, was indicative of...something. Likely unpleasant, or perhaps Obi-Wan had simply grown too used to unpleasant things to expect anything else. And he was tired. He frowned at his clone commander. "We have a battle to finish."

Something cold crept into the air surrounding him. Cold and dark, like a dead star. The Force swirled around him like a gust of wind. The creaking of droids fell aside, replaced with the steady pace of plastoid boots upon the tarmac.

Before Obi-Wan could say anything more, Cody whirled around, raised his fist and called, "Hold!"

It was then that Obi-Wan glanced around. On all sides, blasters aimed – at  _him_ – were clones. The 212th. His soldiers, his  _men._ His breath caught but he pushed aside his surprise and fatigue and reached out to them, because this was madness. With a speed and strength that should not have been surprising, Cody grabbed Obi-Wan's arm and all but slung the Jedi Master behind his armored form, placing Obi-Wan between himself and Boga, whose head was raised, sharp eyes glittering with what Obi-Wan could only think of as determination.

"Hold," Cody called again, no small amount of desperation in his voice. "Kriffing  _hold._ "

"Cody, what in the blazes is going on?"

"Order Sixty-Six. Contingency order, set in place in the event of Jedi officers acting against the interests of the Republic. We are authorized to use lethal force to remove said officers." Without missing a beat, he slanted that blank, black T-visor at Obi-Wan. "Honestly, General, I think it's  _osik._ "

Sweet stars. It was more of an answer than he'd bargained for. Obi-Wan's mouth opened but speech took a moment in coming. "You think..."

"Sir," one of the others – Boil – called. "We have our orders."

A few other clones nodded. Their blasters were still trained on Obi-Wan and cold, hard determination rolled off of them. Obi-Wan stood straight and kept his hands at his sides, attempting to present as non-threatening a picture as he could.

Cody made no such effort. "Stand the fek down, the lot of you," he growled, stepping further between himself and his general. "We have orders, yes, but  _think_ for two  _shabla_ seconds."

Boil shifted in place. "But–"

"Umbara," Cody spat. "Or have you forgotten?"

Surprise and raw, unfettered grief sprang from Boil's Force-presence, and he lowered his blaster. "No."

"The rest of you," Cody continued, glancing around. "Have  _you_  forgotten Umbara? Have you forgotten how to  _crinking_   _think_ for yourselves? Is this man," he ripped off his helmet and jerked his forefinger at Obi-Wan, "a danger to the Republic? How many hours has he fought beside us? How much blood has he shed beside us? He's as much of a karking traitor as I am."

Confusion rippled through the men of the 212th, and they glanced at one another, at Cody, at Obi-Wan. The few who'd not broken away to fire upon the Jedi "traitor" were still engaged in fighting, but everything beyond this pocket of space and time seemed to have slowed. Obi-Wan's heart beat steadily in his ribcage and Utapau spun lazily in its orbit. The world was as it had been moments ago.

But everything was different.

If he extended his awareness beyond this moment, he felt the echoes of death in the Force. So many, so quickly. The Force reeled with the loss. He had to move. He had to help. But there were so many unknowns.

After seconds, or hours, he found his voice. "On whose authority has this 'Order Sixty-Six' been issued?"

Cody's answer was grim. "Chancellor Palpatine."

* * *

The thread that bound Stonewall to Cody shone, pulled taut, but strong. Beyond it, in Stonewall's mind's eye, were countless other threads, stretching out to still more, out and out into the vast well of energy that was the Force. Cody was a veteran; he had ties to many men.

Stonewall's body was a dim and distant thing as he reached for the threads beyond Cody's bright spirit. So close, within his grasp...

But he clutched at emptiness. He was not strong enough. Despair flooded the barren ground where the wall had stood.

And then she was there, she who had no name in the long memory of the Force but whose presence he would know anywhere, any time. Love suffused him, bolstered him. A Jedi, a  _true_  Jedi, not a clone playing at the Force, joined her energy to his, and lifted him up.

Stonewall's reach extended a little farther.  _Hold._

* * *

Rex stood at the center of the storm.

He had followed Skywalker through fire and certain death before. Now should be no different. But his vision was mired in shadows, cut through with blaster bolts and the tracing arcs of lightsabers, and smoke wreathed the Jedi Temple halls. Clones attacking Jedi. Jedi fighting back in self-defense. It was madness. It was a waking nightmare.

_Hold._ It echoed in his mind, bolstered his hesitation. For once, he relished the uncertainty, because this order...

Wrong. It was wrong, and he could not do this. Would not. He gripped his twin pistols like lifelines and darted through the smoke and chaos. His general. He had to find Skywalker. Surely this was all a mistake, or there was more happening than he understood; either way, he could not do this. But he would gladly go to death as a traitor before he would live as a murderer.

His passage on the marbled floors made no sound, but it was not because his steps were silent. Screaming blasterfire tore the air around him, so loud, even through the baffles in his bucket. Clones, men, Jedi, women, soldiers, children; they all fought and died, cut down like shafts of Saleucami wheat.

Rex turned a corner and pummeled into a solid wall of armor. Kix, Hardcase, Jesse, Coric; his men, his  _vode._ Their bodies were held at the ready, blasters cocked, T-visors up and fixed his way.

"What's going on, sir?" Jesse's voice was thin even through his mic.

"Hold," Rex said.

Hardcase shifted, always anxious to be moving; it was this restlessness that had saved his life back on Umbara. "But Appo said our orders–"

" _Hold._ " Rex jerked the muzzle of his right-hand pistol toward the nearest corridor, where a shadow stalked through the smoke, meters ahead. "This is wrong and you know it.  _Think, vode."_

Jesse and Kix exchanged glances. Coric straightened. "What can we do about it? They're dying as we speak."

Rex didn't know whom he referred to, but he couldn't suss it out now. "Skywalker. He ran off the moment we entered the Temple. We must find him. He has to know this order is wrong..."

"But he's a Jedi," Hardcase murmured. "Aren't we supposed to...?"

"No,  _he_  led us here," Kix added. " _All_  of us."

Rex gritted his teeth. Moments, only, but too many had passed. "Come on," he said, stepping forward. "Are you with me, or not?"

His men, his brothers, stepped in line behind him. "We've got your six, sir," Hardcase said, nodding. "Let's move out."

* * *

There were so many threads. First from Cody, then from Rex, stretching in all directions. Stonewall's mind swam with  _vode_ , but he could not reach them all, not even with Kali's help. For the first time, he began to truly doubt, and his grip upon those first few threads slipped, just a bit. More doubt followed, and he was suddenly aware of how tired he was, how heavily the shell of his body rested upon his bones. Dizziness swam with doubt, and the fear returned.

_I can't do this._

And then, another bright pulse of life flared beside him, warming him as though he'd been thrust from the deepest shadows into pure sunlight. Another joined the first. And another. And another, still.

Milo. Trax. Crest. Weave.

Still another spirit brightened, so close but still so far, as much a part of him as his heart and blood. His son. It was impossible. It was a dream.

Strength flooded the doubt and fear. Stonewall took a deep breath, and reached once more for the threads, gripping them tightly in his mind's eye. He would do this because he must.

Around, within and through him, the Force sang,  _Hold._

* * *

"Execute Order Sixty-Six."

Felucia held its breath.

Beneath the sheltering layers of armor, Commander Bly's heart kicked up its pace – not for the first time, with thoughts of  _her_ – but this, now...this was a different game. His head ached fiercely, suddenly, and his weapon was heavy in his trembling hands, as if his body rebelled. Could it be true? She was strength and warmth and determination, and he would never tire of standing at her side.

But orders were orders.

_Lethal force._

He was more than his body. More, even, than his heart and mind. He was a soldier, and he had orders. Bly gathered his fortitude and aimed for the teal curve of her back.

But at the edges of his mind, something like instinct prickled into warning, and his breath hitched.  _Hold._

One moment turned into two, and more followed, falling around him like rain-soaked air. His men shifted in place, ready to follow his lead, but unwilling to take the first shot at their general, who even now was starting to turn, a question no doubt on the tip of her tongue. Bly had never before hesitated in her presence.

Until now.  _Hold._ It was no order; it ran deeper than training. It bade him be still, wait, think. And with these things came a certainty that flooded his heart and mind and body.

She turned, lips pulled into a faint frown of confusion. "Commander?"

Over a closed comm channel, one of his men cleared his throat. "Orders, sir?"

Bly took a deep breath and lowered his deece. Through his comm, he said, "Hold."

"But–"

"You heard me, trooper," he broke in, scowling into his HUD. "Kriffing  _hold._ Something's not right here, and I'm not about to follow that order without more intel. Is that clear?"

They were good men, good brothers, and they eased their weapons from a ready position. They'd followed her, and Bly, for a long time, after all. A chorus rang out over the closed comm channel. "Yes, sir."

Heedless of any of this, she regarded him. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes, General Secura." He nodded to the path ahead. "I have something to discuss with you, but we can do it as we walk. Let's keep going."

* * *

"Execute Order Sixty-Six."

Behind the safety of his bucket, Wolffe swore. It was very often his first reaction to a crisis, though no one but himself – and possibly his general – knew of the habit.

Or so he liked to think.

The air screamed. The ground trembled with the steps of the Seppie droids, who even now were preparing to storm the Wolfpack. It'd been a brief fight, but a hard one, and the day was only beginning. But as difficult as the ground battle was, there was another in the skies.

Wolffe's stomach clenched and he looked up, scanning the clouds for the source of the scream: starfighters, tasked with patrolling Cato Neimoidia's atmo. Sinker, Boost and his other men cleaned up the Seppie mess on the ground. Wolffe had no desire to be a pilot, but it was moments like these that it would've come in handy to fly.

There! General Plo's lithe  _Aethersprite_ fighter tore through the clouds, leading the charge of clone pilots, all of them intent on pummeling the few Seps who dared to fight back. Wolffe's general was a true warrior. A Jedi.

And a good man.

_Lethal force._

On top of all this other  _osik_ , Wolffe's head ached like he'd just taken the beating of his life, but he shook the insistent throb away and forced himself to  _think_. Wolffe was the commander of this op, but no doubt the contingency order had been relayed to all officers.

Behind Plo's fighter, another loomed. Angled like a bird of prey, Captain Jag's starfighter slid into an attack position. The rest of his team followed in the effortless, perfect alignment only clones were capable of.

A slight tug at the back of his mind made Wolffe's breath catch, and his battle-sense urged,  _Hold._ Time slowed, obligingly, but to Wolffe the next few seconds stretched clear and terrifying. It would happen so fast. Even a Jedi Master would not be able to sense this and there was no way he could explain all of this before the  _Aethersprite_ exploded like a star. It was not a betrayal. It was not personal. It was just orders.

Orders were orders. But this was wrong. Throat tight, Wolffe opened a closed comm channel to Jag. "Hold," he said without preamble. "Jag, do you copy?  _Hold_ your fire."

The captain's voice crackled through the static. "What the kriff are you talking about, sir? Orders are to–"

"I heard the orders," Wolffe broke in. "But I'm giving my own.  _Hold_ your effing fire."

"Sir, that's treason!"

"After he gave you a chance when no one else would fardling  _look_ at you?" Wolffe snarled. "You would return his compassion with a shot in the back?"

The closed comm channel revealed Jag's sharp inhale at the reminder – as if the captain  _needed_ it – of how he'd been stripped of his rank of commander after a particularly gruesome failure on his part. Of how Plo Koon alone, out of all the Jedi, had given him a new place and purpose. Given him wings.

"If we're to arrest him," Wolffe added with a calm he did not feel, "let's do it to his face. We owe him that much,  _vod_."

The captain was silent. Until, "Orders are orders," Jag ground out, and cut the link.

Wolffe's guts twisted with frustration and fury, and the helplessness of being earthbound when he needed to fly. He searched the skies again, desperate to put his eyes on his general.

"What's going on?" Sinker asked, coming to stand beside him and peer at the sky. "Sir...?"

But Wolffe ignored him as Jag's fighter lined up behind Plo's, readying for the shot.  _No,_ he thought, clenching his fists.  _This is wrong, Jag. Hold your fire! Hold!_

Again, time slowed. Or so it seemed to his perception, which was probably not to be trusted now. Wolffe stared at Jag's blade-sharp ship.  _Hold!_

Moments later, he would not be able to quantify what occurred. Wolffe was a commander, yes, but he was just a clone. Like so many. He was no Jedi. But in that moment, something within him, faint and fragile as a spider's web, reached beyond the shell of his body and stretched across the sky to Jag.

And then...

And then...

The nose of Jag's fighter lifted slightly, angling back into a normal flight position, and Wolffe sagged with relief. But it was short-lived. Even now, clones across the galaxy were no doubt carrying out their orders. Immediately, he blinked into his HUD and opened a channel to his general.

"Wolffe? What's wrong?"

"Sir, you need to come down here."

"The battle–"

Wolffe glanced at the droids that shambled through the area. There were so many of them. Always. It felt like he alone had killed thousands, yet there were always more. Would it ever be finished?

His headache was worse now.  _Fek_. "Frankly, General," he replied grimly. "The real battle is elsewhere."

* * *

"Execute Order Sixty-Six."

Everything on Kashyyyk was green: the forest; the 41st Battalion's mottled, camouflage armor; the generals. No clone could sense the Force, but General Unduli had often spoken of its richness on this world of green, growing things.

Commander Gree glanced up, sweeping his eyes over his men and the Wookiees they fought beside. This part of Kashyyyk held freshwater lagoons that might have been peaceful in another time. Kachirho, the capital city, was built within a sprawling wroshyr tree. It was unlike any place he'd ever been, and if he survived this war, he hoped to return.

General Yoda stood a few paces away, surveying another section of the beach, where General Unduli led the rest of their troops. How long had they been fighting? Not just today; all their lives, it seemed. There had never been a day where Gree had not picked up a weapon with intent to harm.

His experience was short but history's memory was long. What would history say about the clone army?

The answer was simple.

_History will say we did our duty._

Gree nodded to Chock, who stood by the door to the tree-based command post where General Yoda could best study the goings-on. Both men stepped forward silently, blasters slowly lifting. If they were to succeed, they would have to be quick. Gree had seen the diminutive Jedi move like wind on water, and did not think he and Chock would be quick enough. But he had a duty. He had orders.

_Lethal force._

A danger to the Republic.

Gree took a breath and pressed his finger to the trigger.

_Hold._

It was not a spoken word. It was not a thought. It was not even a memory. It was deeper than those things; an understanding written in his blood. Stop. Listen. Think. For Gree, none of that was a hardship. Orders were orders, but he had not survived three bloody years by acting without  _thinking_.

Beside him, Chock noted his commander's hesitation and paused, casting a glance Gree's way in a silent question. Gree ignored him and looked at his hands, where his weapon rested easily. Comfortably. He was made for this, made for war and death and fighting. But knowledge and experience had shaped him, too, and he wondered if this was one of those moments that would be written in history's memory.

The Jedi, traitors? It made no sense. Surely it was a mistake. He frowned behind his bucket. If there was truth to it, would General Yoda stand ahead, so calm, so quiet? Would General Unduli's saber shine so brightly against the relentless tide of droids? Would any Jedi continue to pursue this desperate, fathomless war if they sought to topple the Republic?

"Sir?" Chock's voice over their closed comm channel was tentative.

Gree's frown deepened as indecision took hold of him, and he didn't care for the feeling. Clones were made for action. But he was also more than the sum of his training and his DNA, so he straightened and lowered his blaster. It would be better, not to mention  _smarter_ , to verify this order before taking action. The source code was odd, anyhow. If it was a Seppie trick of some kind...

"Hold," he said to Chock, who started in surprise, but slid back into his guard stance. Gree took another calming breath and looked at General Yoda, who regarded him with placid, swamp-green eyes.

"Trouble, is there, Commander?"

Gree allowed himself one more moment of hesitation, then pushed it aside to do his duty. "Sir, I suspect our communications have been compromised."

The general's pointed ears twitched in what Gree thought – briefly – was either amusement or alarm. Or both, knowing him. "Oh?"

Nodding, Gree withdrew his hand-held comlink. "We've received a suspicious order that I am unable to verify."

Yoda's eyes slid to the comlink, and Gree activated the transmission.

* * *

_Execute Order Sixty-Six._

Fox stood with his men while smoke billowed from the Jedi Temple.

"Is it true, sir?"

This time of night, the Corrie Guard barracks were usually quiet. But the recent spurt of action had somewhat shifted the natural order of the world, and Fox's men reacted the only way they knew: with action. Even now, a dozen of them stood at the edge of the barrack's gate, armed and armored, itching to join the 501st in combat.

Fox ignored the shiny who'd spoken and pitched his voice to reach all of them. "Hold your positions. No one moves unless  _I_ give the order."

Some of them shifted in place, glancing at one another and at the temple across the city. One brave, stupid sergeant cleared his throat. "But  _this_  order comes from the Chancellor."

The title made Fox's guts twist and the danger sense throbbing through his skull strengthen. Rex had said Fives was safe – for now. But the Supreme Chancellor was a powerful man with a long reach, and there was little doubt in Fox's mind that Fives would be dead now if not for Rex's quick thinking and Captain Stonewall's  _unique_  abilities.

"There are no Jedi here," he said at last, glancing among his men. "That order is meant only for those in the field, serving directly under the generals and commanders. Our mandate is the same: protect the citizens of Coruscant. Protect the Republic."

He indicated the Senate building, much closer than the ziggurat of the Temple, hoping to direct his men's focus elsewhere, at least until he got a better sense of what the  _shab_ was going on. All the better if it was their duty.

"Squad leaders: take your teams and head to the Senate. Ensure all access and egress points are guarded, and encourage all non-essential personnel to keep to their quarters. Set your HUDs to record, in case the security cams aren't working. And do  _not_ ," he added sharply, "engage any Jedi, should you come across them. Inform me, and I will take care of them, personally. Is that clear?"

Their voices rang out in unison, echoing across the permacrete and into the night. "Sir, yes, sir!"

He watched them go before glancing back at the Temple, where Rex was, where the heart of this conflict was laying itself bare.  _Good luck,_ vod _,_  he thought, turning away, toward his men.

_I've a feeling you're going to need it._

* * *

A/N: Whew. Okay, so hopefully this makes sense and is – at least in the world of this fic – slightly plausible. I waffled about this idea for a long time, almost cutting it altogether, but ultimately thought it was too neat  _not_ to attempt. You'll get more detail about exactly what's taking place here in a little bit.

Throughout  _Fearless,_ the groundwork for this chapter has been laid, both with Stonewall's Force-abilities and Milo's "call" to Kali and Shadow Squad. But while these elements are clear in my mind, sometimes they emerge hopelessly muddled on the page. To that end, please let me know what you think!

Thank you for reading. :)


	61. Chapter Sixty

Lyrics: ["New Speedway Boogie," by the Grateful Dead, from  _Workingman's Dead._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_nOpJMQ3-VE)

* * *

**Chapter Sixty**

_Now, I don't know, but I've been told,_

_If the horse don't pull,_

_You've got to carry the load._

_I don't know whose back's that strong._

_Maybe find out before too long._

When the attack came, Honi had been, of all places, in the 'fresher. Nothing unseemly – she was only washing her hands – but still, it was irksome to be indisposed at the worst possible time.

She froze when she felt the dark swell of their intent before she heard the steady march of boots, and stared at her reflection in the 'fresher mirror without seeing it. The Force shivered with the clones' approach and her stomach twisted. But that was nothing,  _nothing,_ when laid against the white-hot void of one of her own. A Jedi was with the soldiers, leading the charge.

And it was a man she knew.

All Jedi knew Anakin Skywalker. Had Honi troubled herself with idle thoughts, she'd have wished she didn't know him. When she felt the blade of his intention pierce the bulwark of the Temple, she knew the worst was happening.

The alarm sounded the moment she stepped out of the 'fresher; it was a soft sound, but still urgent, and it was heard by every able-bodied Jedi within the Temple. Honi exchanged a few grim nods with other Knights and a few Padawans, but this was wartime, after all. There were drills for this sort of thing, though the thought of a Jedi invading the sanctity of the Temple made her jaw get tight.

_There is no emotion._

If only that were true. Confusion, desperation, fear...the Force writhed beneath the assault, pressing upon Honi's very being with enough pressure to shatter, but she held firm and focused on her duty.

There was a place for everyone within a crisis.

Initiates of all ages were brought to the creche, deep within the Temple's heart and easy to defend – among its other attributes. The strongest fighters stormed the front lines, prepared to defend those within at all costs. Padawans were supposed to be with their Masters.

Honi had her own place. In times of strife, it was a Healer's calling to seek those who needed her the most. So she rushed to the Halls of Healing, where an evacuation was already in progress. It was orderly chaos; those patients that could walk on their own were urged to do so, and help others if they could. Those who were too injured or ill to manage were assisted. Few spoke, and it was not just because the insistent chime of the alarm subdued all but the most essential conversation.

Already the air tasted like smoke, even this far from the main halls. Honi paused by a column to search for a familiar, blue-skinned figure, but Zara was not among those assembled. Her heart constricted and she withdrew her comlink with trembling fingers. But...

"They're jamming transmissions," another Healer, a Muun, said in passing.

"Who?"

The Muun, Honi could not recall her name, frowned. "The clones."

She turned away before Honi could ask for clarification.  _The clones_? It was madness. They were not all like Weave or his brothers – he was a paragon among all men, she was certain – but even the men from Sector Nine had not harbored murderous tendencies. Something else must be going on.

In any case, she needed to find Zara. Chaos engulfed the Force, threatening to swallow her whole; focus was a fight, but after several frustrating minutes she was able to pick out her Padawan's Force-presence, spiked through with the same fear that permeated the sacred halls. The girl was terrified, and so was whomever she was with. Honi took a deep breath to gather her calm. Perhaps if she tried...

_Zara,_ she called through the Force.  _Zara, where are you?_

Her Padawan's Force-presence brightened once, then flickered.  _The creche, Master. I was helping the Minders when..._

She trailed off and Honi could imagine the dark indigo flush of her  _lekku,_ as was her custom when she was frightened.  _Fourteen years old._ Older than the men who even now flooded the Temple halls with violence and smoke.

This was madness, all of it. Honi brushed an errant strand of hair out of her eyes and glanced around the Halls of Healing; there was work to do. There always was. She was needed here.

But Zara...

It was no decision. Honi took a breath to gather her strength, and darted out the nearest door. By now the halls were thick with smoke and heat, and the shriek of blaster fire tore through the air. Ahead of her, through a carpeted corridor, blue plasma bolts illuminated the smoke. Clones marched through the miasma, united in their purpose.

Were the clones truly  _attacking_  the Jedi Temple? Why? Honi thought of Kali's husband, of Milo's scar, of Quinlan Vos' report; Stonewall had seemed like a gentle enough man when she'd met him, but he'd killed innocents.

But Weave was compassionate and wise beyond his brief years. And he was not a murderer. Would it be like seeing his face if she saw the face of another clone in her final moments? For surely, they were upon her.

_There is no death; there is the Force._

But she was a Healer, and that was a lie. Death was the only certainty.

The trip to the creche took far too long. Three times, she was nearly discovered; whether her survival was due to luck or skill, she didn't know, but she was able to duck out of the way of incoming clones before they spotted her. Once she turned a corner too quickly and came upon the remains of two Jedi, bodies still smoking, lightsaber hilts rolling from outstretched fingers. She could not recall their names. She could do nothing for them. She hurried on.

When she finally reached the creche, it was blessedly quiet. Zara and two adult minders were doing their best to quiet the younglings, but terror was thick in the air, like smoke; the worst was on Honi's heels and coming for them. Skywalker's Force-presence was unmistakable: strong and billowing, all heat-filled fury.

"Master!" Zara met her a few steps in the door, dark eyes wide and swirling with agitation. "We're trying to get them all out the emergency exit, but–"

"You have no more time." It was not a man's voice. It was like no voice she'd ever heard.

Honi hardened her heart and prepared to face the dark tide he brought. "Zara, get out of here."

"But–"

" _Now_ , Zara." Her saber was ignited and in her hand before she'd formed the thought. She was not nearly the caliber of fighter that Skywalker was, but her life would buy Zara and the others a few precious seconds. Honi took a breath in preparation, and met Skywalker's gaze.

So it was to be a Jedi.

* * *

It was no hardship for Rex to find where Skywalker had gone. The captain was by no means a Force-sensitive, but the other man's presence was oppressive, like thunder, and it resonated through the hallways. Rex and the men of Torrent, having served at his side for so long, knew their general's moves almost as well as each others'. Besides, Skywalker always left a trail of destruction in his wake; today was no different.

They found him in the creche.

Anakin Skywalker stood at the threshold of the dim room, eyes ahead, blue saber raised and ready. Rex could not see what he looked at, but he could make out a dozen bassinets; the crystals embedded in their sides glowed faintly in the darkness. Each held a small form. Only a few cried. There were adult Jedi in here, too, at least, from what Rex could make out from this angle. A green lightsaber hummed and he caught an incongruous flash of copper.

The air was thick with foreboding. Even at rest, Skywalker was a warrior; his body always prepared for a fight. Rex lifted his hand and Kix, Jesse, Coric and Hardcase stopped as one. For Rex, there were a few more slow, steady steps until he paused just out of saber's reach and said, softly, "Sir, is it true?"

No response.

Hardcase and Jesse shifted uneasily. Coric and Kix looked to their captain. Rex took a deep breath to stave off his impending panic and stepped forward, just a bitmore. "General Skywalker."

The Jedi's head inclined slightly, as if he'd not heard correctly, but he said nothing. Rex's breath was hot and fast in his bucket, enough to fog his visor. In one fluid motion he pulled his helmet off. "Anakin. What's going on?"

The man who turned to him was no one he knew. Anakin Skywalker's eyes were warm blue, easily crinkled with his endless good humor.

There was none of that now. No blue; only yellow and crimson, the colors of bile and old blood. No good humor; only a dark, endless well of anger and fury so cold it burned Rex's guts and stole his breath. His mouth opened but no sound emerged.

"You have your orders, Rex." It was not Anakin who spoke. It was someone else, another man, a stranger. It was a voice like boots on wet gravel.

_Orders._ The word snapped Rex back to reality and afforded him a bizarre, twisted sense of calm. He was very aware of the humming saber in his general's hand, suddenly so close to his torso. Would bifurcation be a quick death? He hoped so. He'd never cared for waiting around.

"With respect, sir," he said slowly, holding his general's bloodstained eyes, "some orders are not meant to be followed."

Skywalker – or the man he was now – glared at him, and it took every ounce of training and experience, not to mention a healthy dose of adrenaline, to hold his ground against that fiery gaze. But he did. Bootsteps reverberated behind him, but Rex ignored the newcomers, trusting his  _vode_ to keep them at bay while Rex stared down his Jedi general.

"General." It was Sergeant Appo coming from behind. "Do you require assistance?"

Skywalker did not take his eyes off of Rex, but his shoulders sank a fraction. Rex took it as a victory. Then his general's voice slunk out of the darkness. "Finish this."

Before Rex could respond, Skywalker darted away from the creche, Jedi-quick. Within the space of a heartbeat, he was gone.

The familiar  _click click_ of a weapon being locked and loaded echoed through Rex's mind. He turned toward the men of Torrent. "Captain Rex," Appo said calmly. "You are in our way."

The creche was behind Rex. In the green glow of the remaining Jedi's saber, he caught flickers of movement out of the corner of his eyes; so there were more Jedi there, not just children. At his sides were his brothers, backs straight, shoulders set. Ahead of him was Sergeant Appo and a dozen men, blasters raised in a grim echo of a firing squad on a shadowy world.

"Stand aside, Captain," Appo added, a trace of urgency to his words. "We have our orders."

"Sir?" Coric's voice was as steady as the hum of a lightsaber.

Each breath brought smoke and heat and burning things. Rex's heart drummed behind his ribs and beads of sweat rolled down the backs of his arms, soaking his gloves, where he still gripped his pistols. Adrenaline urged him to let loose his frustration and blast his terror into oblivion.

But no.

"Hold," he said to Coric. To Appo, he said, "We do have orders. But they're wrong. You  _know_ they're wrong."

Appo's men shifted; they'd followed Rex first, but Appo was well-liked among the ranks. And orders were orders. The sergeant raised his deece. "With respect, you're out of line, Captain."

"Those are  _children_ ," Kix broke in. "They're innocents."

Smoke from the other halls had seeped to this one too, and the creche was impossible to make out through it and the shifting shadows cast by the Jedi's saber. Appo shook his head once. "They're Jedi."

His stance was firm, but his voice wavered. Rex leaped upon the other man's hesitation. "Appo, listen to me. They're younglings. They've been alive less time than we have. Do you truly believe they're a danger to the Republic?"

Appo's helmet tipped forward while his blaster drooped. "I don't...I don't know."

The  _hiss_  of a deactivating lightsaber made all of them turn. " _Shab,_ " one of Appo's men cried, and the lot of them sprang upright, blasters ready.

A female voice Rex had never heard slipped behind him, cool and bright as morning air, polished and shard-sharp. "Please, leave them alive. They are children."

"Master!"

Rex risked a glance to his right, where a copper-haired woman in beige robes stood, chin raised, eyes fixed upon Appo. She'd been there the entire time, but he'd not given her a thought until now. She did not turn her gaze as she said, "Zara, I told you to leave with the others."

"But–"

"Please, Zara _._ "

There was a sob, then footsteps, then no sound at all. The copper-haired Jedi continued to regard Appo with the calm certainty only her kind were capable of. "You have orders. But so do I. It is my mandate as a Jedi and as a Healer to protect all life. So if you want the children," her fingers twitched along her saber, though she did not ignite it again, "you will have to come through me."

Rex's throat was dry but he managed to push some words out. "Appo, stand the fek down."

Appo's hand trembled but he shook his head. "Lethal force," he murmured, and aimed for the Jedi's heart.

* * *

Honi steeled herself but the shot did not come.

"Captain," the clone who aimed his weapon at her – Appo – did so with a shaking hand. "Move."

But the other clone, Captain Rex, stood before her, blocking her body with his own, and his words rolled through the small space like thunder. "Open your eyes and look around." He jerked his chin around them, at the assembled clones. "Brothers against brothers. This is wrong and you know it."

Appo's visor tilted in Honi's direction; he did not speak but she could sense his hesitation warring with the comfort of his orders.

Her voice was too soft and high-pitched when laid against that of these clones. "You have orders, and a purpose. I understand. So if you must arrest a Jedi, take me." To illustrate, she lifted her hands in surrender.  _Kali would be proud._  "I will not fight you or your  _vode._  You have all been fighting this war for us; I will not continue the battle here, where it does not have to be."

Appo stared at her, or so she thought, as she could not see his eyes and his Force-presence was dim in the maelstrom of the Temple. Captain Rex inclined his head her way at the word  _vode,_ but spoke to Appo and the men behind him. "You heard her,  _vod_. There's no danger here, but something's wrong. Stand down, and we can sort this  _osik_ out."

It was only a few moments, but it felt longer. At last, the muzzle of Appo's weapon lowered and the sergeant's shoulders sank in a sigh. "Very well."

Rex exhaled; only because she was so close did she hear the sound. "Thank you _._ "

She thought he was speaking to his clone brother; only when he glanced her way did she realize the words were meant for her.

* * *

How quiet it was, outside the Temple. Zara stood a few paces from the hidden emergency exit and took a moment to close her eyes and savor the feeling once the clone patrol had passed. Quiet was not often found on this world. If not for the glow of fire and acrid plume of smoke, she could have been anywhere in the galaxy.

But it was not a good, peaceful quiet. It reminded her of Sector Nine.

Zara was not strong enough to call her Master through the Force, though she'd tried a dozen times since they'd parted ways. But she still reached for the thread of Force-energy that bound her to Honi Tallis. It was bright and taut, which set her heart at ease – a little. Honi was alive, anyway. Beyond that, she did not know.

_Master_ , she thought, looking up at the imposing wall of the Temple.  _Please be okay._

"We must take shelter," one of the Minders was saying, tucking an infant in the front of her robes. "We cannot stay here. When the clones return..."

"We must flee the planet," another Minder replied. He held an infant as well, with two more children clinging to his beige robes. Several other Minders of varying species had similar burdens.

A third Minder, another Nautolan, hugged a Rodian child close to her chest. "We cannot outrun the clones. And there are too many of them to fight."

The first, a Twi'lek well into her later years, pulled her lips tight and swept her eyes over the little group; perhaps a dozen infants, with another ten children below the age of five. The rest of the Initiates had been in other parts of the Temple, in class or finishing their supper. Zara's stomach clenched at the thought of what fates they had met.

At last, the first Minder shook her head. "Hafia is right; we can't outrun or face them directly." She indicated the younglings around them. "Nor can we move silently."

The second Minder, a Human male, frowned. "Then what can we do, Shempi?"

"Zara," the first Minder said softly. When Zara approached, Master Shempi placed a hand on the girl's shoulder and held her gaze. "You must continue to scout ahead. There are several emergency vessels at the Eastport Docking Facility. It will be a difficult journey with the children; we need you to go before us and make sure the way is clear. Do you know the way?"

Throat tight, Zara could only manage a nod. Master Shempi gave her a soft smile that did not reach her eyes. "You have done so well, already, but your work is not done. Now go. Quickly."

They were not on Temple grounds any longer. On her own, the quiet turned from ominous to threatening, and each footfall seemed to resonate through the empty pedwalks and alleys. It would not be easy to reach the EDF on foot, but it was manageable. She'd done so before, though it felt like forever ago.

That thought eased the knots in her stomach a bit and afforded her a little calm. She took a deep breath and eased into the night.

The pedwalks were clear of civilians – some sort of mandatory curfew for this area, perhaps – and save for a few patrols of clones that she avoided, she saw no one. Every fifteen minutes she circled back to the slowly-moving group to alert them of any potential danger, then continued. At one point, she nearly ran headlong into a trooper squad in red-streaked armor, but ducked into the shadows at the last moment and kept herself hidden. It meant another detour, though. By the Senate, no less.

She was reluctant to move too close to the Senate, which would likely be heavily guarded by clones, but it was the lesser of two risks, given the patrol she'd nearly encountered. So she gathered her strength and her courage and darted between alleys.

Kriff, it was so quiet here. Her breath rushed from her lungs in gusts and her heart hammered. When she paused at the edge of an alley, surveying a pedwalk, the sound of a scraping boot made her  _lekku_ twinge in painful surprise.

Instinct urged her to  _run_ , but she held her ground and forced herself to be calm, to think. She pressed her body against the wall and searched with the Force; if it was a clone, she could probably sneak by him. She had no wish to kill anyone. Crest and the others had been so nice to her, and she hated the idea of hurting one of Levy's brothers, though she would if she had to.

Zara reached out with the Force and found...

Her breath caught at the familiar presence, though she'd never felt him so weak. Had he ever been weak? All thoughts of caution fled her mind as she slipped through the shadows to Mace Windu, who lay some meters ahead, crumpled beneath a pile of rubble.

She smelled him next. Burned flesh and blood, and the heavy salt of regret. Her stomach churned when she saw the stump of his right hand, and then it was worth the risk to sweep her wrist and uncover him from the old flimsi and other detritus that had cushioned his fall and shielded him from passing clone patrols. Fall? Zara looked up, at the towering Senate building. What had happened to him?

"Master," she breathed, kneeling beside him. "Master Windu. Can you hear me?"

Dark eyes opened but she did not think he could see through the blood that seeped along his temples, let alone the pain that shot through his Force-presence. "Padawan..."

Agitation and pain coiled around him, stronger as he shifted in an attempt to rise. Zara nearly stepped back to let him – he  _was_ the second-highest ranking Jedi in the Order – but then,  _she_  was a Healer, wasn't she? "No, Master," she whispered. "You must hold still. You're very hurt."

"Sith." He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, clearly trying to form something coherent.

_Sith?_ Was that who was responsible for the attack on the Temple? Heat and fear swept through her  _lekku_ , but she pushed them aside to do her duty. "Master, please hold still. I can help you."

"You...?"

"Well, yes," she said, perhaps a little too primly. "Honi taught me really well, you know. Now," she added before he could protest, "please let me at least dull your pain. We'll go from there."

Even now, he could glare at her, and kriffing hell, did he have a glare! But Zara had faced down worse glares from her own Master. She placed a hand on his shoulder and sent a pulse of soothing Force-energy his way. "Let me help you, Master," she said as he relaxed, though barely. "It will be okay. I promise."

* * *

The Force sang with their deaths, a song in which he should have rejoiced.

But it was not the thundering tide he'd worked over the long years to build. No. It was a trickle, a few scattered notes, that sound of a few hearts, silenced. The clones...

Something tugged the edges his consciousness, something he had no name for. Perhaps it was a prickle of instinct, warning him to be cautious, but it was faint, like the final moment of an echo, and it faded almost immediately. He cast it away as useless sentiment.

This night should not have played out in this way. The Kaminoans' did not make mistakes. The cloned creatures were programmed from their inception to follow orders, to let their superiors do the thinking for them. The biochips were a failsafe.

Failsafe. A contradiction in terms. Sidious stared at the bodies of the dead Jedi in his office; where they had brought him joy, hours ago, now they mocked his...

No. He could not think the word. He would not.

Beyond his window, the smoke from the Jedi Temple rose in thick iron columns, but the glow of the fire was already receding. This, too, mocked him. The Temple would not fall tonight.

A soft chime from his desk pulled his attention. Activating the holotransceiver revealed Vader's cloaked form, eyes barely visible beneath his dark cowl. "The traitors have been taken care of, Lord Sidious."

The boy lied.

Even without the Force, even without a lifetime immersed in politics, Sidious knew when someone lied to him. And he knew that he'd failed.

But he had options. Not ideal ones, but options, nonetheless. No possibility, however unwelcome, should be ignored. Already the next few moments had taken shape in his mind.

Time was fleeting. Soon the Jedi would regroup and come for him, and he needed to be elsewhere. Unfortunate, that he'd lost yet another apprentice, but they never seemed to last, did they? However, if Skywalker had not fully turned, as he'd supposed to, he would be more of a hindrance than a help in the next few crucial hours. Best to get the boy out of the way.

Sidious' face revealed nothing as he nodded. "Good. Good. You have done well, my new apprentice. Do you feel your power growing?"

"Yes," a hesitation so slight, but it was a klaxon, "my Master."

"Now, Lord Vader, go and bring peace to the Empire."

Another mockery. The Sith Empire had fallen before it had truly begun. The transmission died but he was already moving for the door.

* * *

Within the bowels of the Senate was a small, private hangar. He'd had it constructed a few years ago, just after the Wars had begun, ostensibly so the Supreme Chancellor would have a way offworld should the worst happen. No one outside of himself and a few others knew of its existence.

Sidious' robe rippled behind him as he strode, quickly but quietly, through the carpeted halls, toward the nearest turbolift. Alarms flashed on all sides, bathing the corridor in crimson and klaxon cries. His mind raced ahead, examining the next few hours in detail, determining the steps he would have to take in order to survive this night. The Jedi were still reeling from their losses but they would pursue him eventually. It was impossible for even him to truly sense their numbers, but he thought less than half of the clone troopers had carried out their orders.

His lips curled in a sneer. Useless cannon-fodder, in the end. Only one had been even remotely worthwhile, and that one was gone too. Dead or alive, he could not say, but it didn't matter now.

_Failure._ The word slunk after him like a shadow and his pace quickened.

"Chancellor."

A clone voice, barely edged with a Coruscanti accent it was not created with; the creatures had nothing of their own, only what they'd appropriated from the world around them.

Still, Sidious paused, though he readied his lightsaber beneath his sleeve. He pitched his voice to be high and thin with worry. "Commander Fox. The Jedi Temple appears to be on fire. Is everything alright?"

"Unknown, sir," the clone officer said above the din of the alarms. "Torrent Company has been dispatched to the Temple. We're ensuring that everyone in the Senate is kept safe. To that end, sir, I must respectfully request that you return to your quarters until further notice."

Sidious allowed a trace of wryness to seep into his reply. "Forgive me, Commander, if I am in no hurry to experience an encore of my recent abduction."

The clone officer regarded Sidious behind his helmet; the crimson lights painted his armor the color of blood. It was not worth the effort of prodding these creatures with the Force, but Sidious brushed the clone's awareness, briefly, to get a sense of the manner in which he'd have to resolve this. So many other clones had failed him; no doubt this one would as well.

What he found in the Force was no deference, nor respect. Only cold, hard defiance and a sharpening sense of danger as the clone mentally prepared himself for a conflict.

Alarming, to say the least. But Sidious examined the clone's armor more closely and recognized that of the officer who had been involved with the ARC trooper debacle. Another failure on the part of the clones. This one should have killed the other. Had the ARC revealed his knowledge to this clone? To others?

"Of course, Chancellor," the clone said, nodding once. "In that case, please allow my squad to escort you to safety."

Sidious' own warning prickled. This clone, this Commander Fox, was a danger to his survival. And time trickled through his fingers, still mocking. How often had he bade himself be patient?  _Wait. Your time will come._

There could be no more waiting, now.

His saber was already in his hands. The corridor was washed in the color of blood, the alarm was loud and the lights were dim. He'd spoken softly; he could very well be a Jedi playing tricks on the soldiers. Skywalker had already killed so many; perhaps he could be made to appear to be the obvious culprit. The future was filled with unknowns.

He'd waited for so long, and these creatures – grown in a lab, not men, barely  _alive_ – had turned the tide of  _his_ war against him. The familiar fury swelled in his chest, filling even the dark void of his heart.

"An escort will not be necessary, Commander. Stand aside."

The clone tensed. Such a small movement, but it was a spark, and Sidious was ready to ignite. The clone's fate had been sealed the moment he'd approached a Sith lord, but it would be sweet to kill the creature. This death, he would savor.

* * *

A/N: Lots going on, with lots more clarification to come in future chapters. Thanks for sticking around. :)


	62. Chapter Sixty-One

Lyrics: ["Fight The Feeling," by Stick Figure, from  _Smokestack._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q7OBG1cNFrg)

* * *

**Chapter Sixty-One**

_You can run away,_

_But the world is here to stay._

_Time can fade away,_

_We will take it day by day._

_Earlier..._

In sleep, Kali reached for her husband, but found only a cold, empty pillow. Her breath caught. In that instant she was back on the  _Stark Raven,_ alone and reeling in her grief. But when she opened her eyes, Stonewall was there; sitting upright, legs hanging off the side of the bed, head ducked, eyes squeezed shut. The Force pulsed around him, extending and contracting with each breath, like a living thing.

He was deep within his trance. Even in the dim light of their room, beads of sweat gleamed on his forehead and his body trembled with exertion. A soft light blinked in his grip; she leaned forward and realized it was a comlink, one she did not recognize. Frowning, Kali continued to study him, not only with her sight, but through the Force. She found him reaching, trying to stretch himself across the stars to...

Rex?

_What the kriff is he doing?_ But she would not disturb him if she could help it, so Kali settled beside her husband and dropped into a similar meditation in order to suss out his intention. Within moments, she understood.

And wished she did not.

_There is no death; there is the Force._

If only that were true.

Because death was all around, choking the Force itself; if she extended her awareness, she felt them dying – Jedi. So many. Why? How?

She returned her focus to Stonewall again, and found...

_Hold._

Through the filter of the Force, she saw the word for what it was: no order, but instinct, or something like it. The realization filled her to the brim. Stonewall was trying to stem the tide of death, though why it had anything to do with Captain Rex and other command clones, she did not know.

Her husband was strong. He was the strongest person she'd ever met, but he could not do whatever he was intending alone. Kali took another deep breath and joined her energy to his, carefully lacing her left hand with his right, hoping not to break his concentration. Perhaps it would be enough.

* * *

_Hold._

Milo's eyes opened to darkness and the final threads of a receding dream. At first he thought he was back in The Dregs, bleeding and broken, then something warm stirred beside him and he smiled down at Kot. The anooba pup's paws and ears twitched as he let out a few soft, squeaking yips, no doubt in hot pursuit of some dream-prey.

But that was not why Milo had woken. Something tugged at his heart, at the place beneath training and regs, beneath experience and education. Instinct, memory, or the Force; all three, maybe, or perhaps it didn't matter.

What mattered was that Stonewall needed him. He knew this like he knew his name, so he rose and slipped from his small room in the RC, padding on bare feet through the corridors.

* * *

_Hold._

Traxis had not been sleeping. When the strange thought entered his mind, he frowned into the shadows of his room and sat up, looking around the spartan space. He was alone, as he'd been when he'd come to bed, tonight and every night since he and the rest of Shadow Squad had gotten their own rooms. His  _own_  room. Another strange notion.

_Hold_. The thought was not his own, and he was reminded of that awful,  _shabla_ day aboard the  _Raven,_ when Milo had effing "called" them all using the Force. They'd never quite figured out  _how,_ had they?

Rubbing his forehead, Traxis swung his legs out of his bunk. What the fek was going on? He reached for his comlink to call Stonewall, but stopped as the thought that was not his entered his head again.  _Hold._

Even to his untrained mind, there was an edge of desperation to the word. Something was wrong. Suddenly, he had an urge to be moving. He crossed the room to the door before he'd registered that he was on his feet. The corridor was silent. He paused only once, outside of Ares' door; no sound emerged. The Twi'lek was sleeping, as he should. Ares had worked harder than anyone these last few weeks, desperate to prove himself. There were things unspoken between them, but it was not the bad kind of unspoken. It was the expectant kind.

"Trax." Milo materialized from the shadows and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Come on."

Frowning, Traxis turned away from Ares' room and followed his  _vod_ through the shadowed hallway. "Where?"

No hesitation flickered in Milo's voice; no, he was no shiny any longer. "Stonewall."

* * *

_Hold._

Crest stood at the threshold to his room and rubbed his eyes. Why the  _shab_ wasn't he in bed? He had a comm-call meeting with Yxias and Senator Organa in the morning, and needed every second of rest. But no; he'd had some crazy fardling dreams and woken up with a gasp. And then, on top of it all, he'd heard footsteps where there should only have been silence.

"Trax? Mi?" His brothers appeared from the shadowed corridor and Crest frowned. "Are you two sleepwalking or someth–"

Milo cut him off by grabbing his wrist and pulling him along. "Come on,  _vod,_ " Milo said in Mando'a. "Stonewall needs us."

It wasn't true until he heard the words. Then it all made sense. Bizarre, crazy sense, if that was possible, but sense, nonetheless. Crest allowed Milo to tug him for a moment before shaking his arm free. "Alright, alright, hold your rontos," he muttered, hurrying alongside his  _vode._ "I'm coming."

* * *

_Hold._

Weave's head jerked up. The sheets of flimsi that had stuck to his cheek drifted to the floor, joined by a half-empty cup of cold caf that shattered upon impact. He whirled around, half-expecting Stonewall to be standing at the open door, blaster in hand, head tilting in the manner it did when he needed to rally the squad together.

But Weave was alone in the lab. He frowned and ran a hand through his hair, trying to collect his thoughts. He'd fallen asleep at his workstation – again. But he'd been awakened by a dream... Or something.

_Stonewall_ , he thought, his frown deepening.  _It's something about him. But what? And how...?_

He had to get to his brother. This, he knew. It was not a quantifiable knowledge, but something akin to instinct, and he decided to heed it.

A quiet sound beyond the lab's door made him tense, though there was no danger here, surely. But just in case, Weave moved with caution to the room's egress and held himself at the ready.

Only to start when his brothers appeared from the shadows of the corridor, strides and faces set in grim – and, in Crest's case, confused – determination. Their faces called to him, though that made no sense, but he answered anyway. Weave slipped from the lab to join his  _vode,_ and together, they made a direct heading for Kali and Stonewall's room.

* * *

_Inhale. Exhale._  Kali gathered what energy she could and siphoned it to her husband, but she was only one Jedi, and whatever he was trying to do was larger than her abilities. Perhaps if she knew more, she could better help him, but he was wrapped deeply within the Force and she did not want to break his trance.

But his reach was not enough, even bolstered with her energy. And somehow, it was imperative that his reach extend... Well, wherever he needed it to.

The bedroom door opened and three men entered. Kali did not question  _why;_ instead _,_ her heart lifted as her and Stonewall's  _vode_ poured their strength into the room. They gathered around Stonewall and Kali, and the Force brightened with their spirits. No, they were not Force-sensitive, but they were  _alive,_ and as such they carried their own kind of Force-presence. Perhaps, with their help, it really would be enough.

"Kali?" Milo's voice was soft.

"What's going on...?" Weave asked.

"Help us," she whispered, reaching out her left hand.

Crest gripped it, and reached for Weave, who grabbed Trax's, who took Mi's. Milo rested his on Stonewall's shoulder. They were only six people and the galaxy beyond was vast. But they were strong in their own right and the bond between them resonated like so many plucked gitar strings. The resonance grew. The Force-energy that pulsed between the family brightened in Kali's mind's eye, blooming, bursting beyond these walls and this city, beyond this planet.

Stonewall's focus was on his task, so Kali gathered the guys' energy and wove it with hers, preparing to siphon it all to Stonewall. As she did, another, smaller pulse of life glimmered, and she could not suppress her gasp of surprise as her and Stone's son sent his own energy to join his parents and his uncles.

" _Luminous beings are we_ ," Master Yoda had often said. " _Not this crude matter."_

Never had that been more true.

Through it all, Stonewall's focus remained, and he reached well beyond the shell of his body, into the void.

_Hold._


	63. Chapter Sixty-Two

Note: Some dialog from this chapter has been reprinted without permission from the  _Revenge Of the Sith_  screenplay, found via IMDB.

Lyrics: ["Shake It Out," by Florence and the Machine, from  _Ceremonials._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WbN0nX61rIs)

* * *

**Chapter Sixty-Two**

_And I am done with my graceless heart.  
So tonight I'm gonna cut it out and then restart._

Despite the years of his life spent in the Jedi Temple, Obi-Wan did not consider it to be his home. A true Jedi's home was in the Force, not where his body resided.

Why, then, was it so difficult to look across the wreckage and ruin of these halls?

He stood with Jocasta Nu and Yoda in the smoldering remains of the eastern entrance, where the worst had happened. Morning light crept up the rubble and broken columns, throwing each jagged edge, each scorch mark, in stark relief. Around them, Jedi and clones alike moved through the rubble, searching for more dead, or wounded to carry to the Halls of Healing.

"Alive, Master Plo is," Yoda was saying. The diminutive Jedi Master leaned heavily on his gimer stick, ears sagging, voice quiet. "And Master Unduli, and Secura. Returning here, they are. Confirmed killed, Master Mundi has been. Stass Allie and Cin Drallig, too."

"He died defending us." Nu's arm was in a sling; she'd suffered a broken bone during the initial ambush, but was otherwise unharmed. "From..." She trailed off and looked at Obi-Wan, whose stomach clenched.

"From...?" His voice sounded small.

The Force shivered with her sorrow and remnants of fear. "As I said, Anakin Skywalker led the clones into the Temple, initially."

The words made less sense each time he heard them. Surely it was a mistake. Surely Anakin would not have...  _Could_ not have...

He cut off the thought and looked back at Yoda. "Has there been any word from Master Windu?"

Yoda's eyes closed. "No."

The Chief Archivist exhaled and ducked her head briefly, gray hair streaked with ash. She murmured something and turned to rejoin the other Jedi at the far side of the room, where the bodies – clone and Jedi alike – were being collected. There were only about a dozen now. No doubt there would be more.

Obi-Wan's hands tightened into fists at his sides. Of course it could have been worse, but there was so much destruction. So much death. The Temple was thick with it.

Was this what the Jedi Order had come to? How had this happened? When had they stepped on the path that led them here?

And could it ever be made right?

The quick, steady tread of clones made him look up. It took Obi-Wan more effort than he liked to shake off the stab of unease at seeing Cody and Rex, armed, walking among the Temple halls. These were good men. They'd not carried out this "order."

But so many of their brothers had.

A consummate professional, Cody saluted as he approached. "Sir, the Temple's perimeter is secure."

Good news, though there was no telling how long it would be so. Though it felt like ages, so little time had passed since the chaos began... How would this situation play out? How would it look to the citizens of the Republic, for their clone army to have turned on its Jedi generals?

"Thank you, Cody," was all he said.

Nodding, the commander seemed to have to work to get the next words out. "Commander Fox..."

He trailed off, though his Force-presence spiked with emotion. Obi-Wan kept his voice calm as he prompted, "Commander Fox...?"

Cody and Rex exchanged looks before Cody sighed and removed his helmet. "Apparently he was...attacked in the Senate."

"Fox and his men were killed," Rex added darkly. "His helmet was found by one of his own patrols and brought to us."

"Attacked in the Senate?" Obi-Wan asked. "By whom?"

Again, the two officers exchanged looks, though the bright threads that bound the brothers in the Force glowed with mutual understanding. On some unseen signal, Rex pulled a small holotransceiver from his belt and held it in his flattened palm. "It's probably easier to just show you, sirs."

At first it was standard footage from a clone's heads-up display, the likes of which Obi-Wan had seen many times. Cody was fond of his helmet's recording function, and it had come in rather handy in the past. The image showed one of the Senate rotunda hallways as the clone passed through. It was somewhat distorted, as the alarms were flashing and screaming, but Obi-Wan recognized the location well enough.

"Pretty standard," Rex said. "The Senate was on high alert, as you can see, so Fox and his men were on patrol, ensuring no citizens were out and about while all of...this was going down."

The image changed when a dark, robed figure appeared, striding with confidence. Obi-Wan's breath caught.  _Anakin_?

"Can't hear what they're saying," Rex continued, brows drawn as he studied the image.

"But it hardly matters in a moment," Cody finished.

Indeed, his meaning was made clear when a lightsaber sprang to life from the robed figure's hand. Only a split-second passed before the clones opened fire, but the figure lunged, cleanly slicing two men at the waist before beheading the third.

Then he angled for Fox. To the commander's credit, he did not turn and run, though the image shook so heavily, Obi-Wan suspected he'd very much wanted to. No, he fired upon the robed figure, though each shot was deflected with ease.

Cody's words were a growl. " _Di'kut_ should have retreated."

"He stood his ground," Rex replied. "He did his duty. To the end."

The image tilted up as the robed figure leaped forward; Commander Fox continued his barrage of fire. Only one shot landed at the edge of the figure's hood. The force of the bolt lifted the fabric away from the figure's face, throwing the wrinkled, unnaturally aged visage in stark relief.

But the Chancellor's momentum was greater than the clone's dedication. The lightsaber descended. The picture shuddered, then died.

Obi-Wan blinked at the sudden loss. "That was..."

But Yoda's eyes were like flint upon the holotransceiver. "The Sith Lord."

Both clones and Obi-Wan turned to the diminutive Jedi Master. "Chancellor Palpatine is  _the_  Sith Lord?" Obi-Wan repeated, mouth opening in his surprise. "The one we've been looking for? Are you quite certain, Master Yoda?"

"Too certain," Yoda said softly. "Saw his face, I did. No other, can it be."

Obi-Wan looked back at the clones. "Do we have any way of knowing where he is now?"

Uncertainty flickered through Cody's Force-presence. "The Chancellor's location is unknown, sir." He cleared his throat and nodded to Rex, who straightened. "But Captain Rex has information about General Skywalker."

So Anakin was grouped with a Sith. The reality stung, but Obi-Wan schooled himself to calm and turned his attention to Rex.

The captain met Obi-Wan's gaze with eyes that were too old for his face. "I followed him here," he said tonelessly. "All of Torrent did. He was our general, and we had our orders. But they did not," he frowned, " _feel_ right."

Cody nodded. "For one thing, there was no way to verify them. Not to mention the substance was highly suspect."

Obi-Wan looked back at Rex. "What happened to Anakin?"

"He..." Rex's eyes closed briefly and he sighed. "I have served with him for three years, General. I feel confident saying that I  _know_ him, at least to a degree. At least enough to say that the man who led us through these halls was  _not_ the General Skywalker I know."

Something cold passed through Obi-Wan; so cold it burned. "What do you mean?"

"I can't quite explain it," Rex said slowly. "Other than a...dark, evil feeling. Like Krell, but much worse. His eyes were red–"

"Lack of sleep?" Obi-Wan could not help the interruption. Nor his hope, foolish though it was.

Rex shook his head. "More than that, sir. Red and yellow, and..." He frowned again, the lines of the expression cutting across his face like furrows in tilled soil. "Fire," he said at last, cheeks coloring. "Not to get too poetic, but that's what his eyes reminded me of."

"Fire," Obi-Wan repeated, glancing at Yoda.

"He was angry, too," Rex added. "More than I've ever seen. And I thought, for a moment, he'd actually do it."

"Do what?"

Rex's eyes widened as if he'd not meant to say the last words aloud. But to his credit, he pushed on. "Kill them."

Obi-Wan frowned. "Kill..."

"The younglings in the creche."

What cold had swept through Obi-Wan splintered him from the inside-out. Anakin, murdering younglings in the creche? They had not all been found...  _Surely not_. "Did he?"

"No, sir." Relief ebbed through the captain's Force-presence. "Appo – a sergeant of mine – came and there was a...well, let's call it a debate, and during that time, General Skywalker fled the area, ordering us to finish the job."

"But  _you_  didn't?"

Anger closed the captain's face and his voice was like stone. "No, sir. We did not murder innocent children in their beds."

"Of course." Obi-Wan sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Forgive me, Captain. I meant no implication. I'm simply trying to understand how events here played out."

Rex's face relaxed and he nodded. "Understood, General. It's been one hell of a night, all around."

Nodding, Obi-Wan glanced at the Jedi Master beside him. Yoda's intent was clear, even without the Force echoing his words.  _Go to him, you must. Stop this crisis before it continues._ Aloud, he said, "Twisted by the dark side, young Skywalker has become. Consumed by fear."

"But we can't be certain of that," Obi-Wan heard himself say.

"To argue, no time there is," Yoda replied calmly. "Act, we must. Escaped, one Sith has. The other must not."

His heart splintered in his chest. "The other...?"

Surprisingly, it was Rex who replied. "With respect, General Yoda, General Skywalker is  _no_  Sith. I've seen a Sith," he added darkly. "And my general is nothing like that witch, Ventress."

But Yoda ignored the clone and continued to regard Obi-Wan. "Fallen, another Jedi has. How many more will he bring down with him, hmm?"

The Jedi Master made no indication of the destruction of the Temple to better illustrate his point because he did not have to. Obi-Wan closed his eyes.  _Anakin. What have you done? What are you going to do? How could it have come to this?_

"General, where do you think he went?" Cody asked.

Obi-Wan and Yoda exchanged glances, and Obi-Wan's heart sank at the shared knowledge. Where else would Anakin go in a crisis? If he'd not remained with her, he'd at least dropped in. Senator Amidala was, at the very least, a good starting point.

It took every bit of strength to keep his reply measured, keep the fear from seeping through the cracks in his voice. "Oh," he said, nodding to Cody to follow him. "I have a few ideas."

* * *

Several minutes later, as they were in the hangar, preparing to leave with a few squads, Cody's head jerked up. "What is it?" Obi-Wan asked. Or did he want to know?

But Cody's reply was almost joyful. At least, as joyful as the commander ever got. "It's General Windu," he said, indicating the door to the Temple hanger. "Podger just sent word that he's been found. Apparently a Padawan came across him in the Senate District. He's being brought to the Healers now. The last of the crechlings have been accounted for, too."

Good news, at least.

Obi-Wan was a Jedi, and Jedi did not pray to the Force the way that some people pray to their gods. But at this he closed his eyes, and for one moment thought,  _Thank you._

* * *

"You're going to kill him, aren't you?"

She was not Senator Amidala now, but Padmé. Wide-eyed and trembling, hands resting on the curve of her belly, she reminded Obi-Wan so keenly of Kali, the memory cut. The morning breeze wafted through the curtains on her apartment's veranda, but there was no sweetness in the air. Only acrid smoke. As if he needed  _that_  reminder, too.

Even so, he could not form the necessary words without effort. "He has become a very great threat."

Padmé shook her head and turned away from him. "I can't..."

Tears slid down her cheeks, she shook her head, and her body seemed to fold in on itself, perhaps in an unconscious effort to protect her child.  _No_. A brush with the Force confirmed his suspicion.  _Children._

More innocent lives that would be twisted by the dark side. It was reason enough for any Jedi to do what must be done. But for Obi-Wan Kenobi, it chipped away at his already crumbling conviction.

But he'd set himself upon this path, and saw no other way through. Anakin – his  _brother –_ had murdered fellow Jedi and turned to the dark side. Regardless of what Rex had said, this was the point of no return. This was the right thing to do.

Padmé had not told him where Anakin had gone, but she knew. Of course, she knew. Once he confirmed, he would order Cody to trace his comm-signal, and find some way to travel with her, undetected. It would be easy. It would be the only thing about today that was easy.

With a heavy heart, he met her dark eyes and peered within her bright presence, not Force-sensitive, but alive and sparkling nonetheless. In this state, the normally guarded senator's intentions were plainly written.

He wished it were not so.

But he had a duty.

"Anakin is the father, isn't he?"

Padmé tensed and looked away again. It was answer enough.

The galaxy seemed to press upon him, heavier with each moment. How long before he broke? "I'm so sorry," he said, and hurried for the door.

* * *

Fire.

It consumed the world around them, the very air Obi-Wan sucked into his lungs as Anakin's burning eyes met his. Rex had been right; there was fire there, but there was also darkness, fear and pain, so vast they must have swallowed everything in sight. Anakin's eyes were the eyes of a Sith. The Force burned beneath that gaze.

"Stop," Padmé pleaded, unaware of Obi-Wan's presence. "Stop now. Come back! I love you..."

_There is no emotion; there is peace._

Anakin's face twisted. "Liar!"

Yes, it was a lie. There was emotion and there was no peace. Not here. Obi-Wan raised his hands and stepped down the Nubian skiff's boarding ramp. Padmé turned, brows knitted, though when she saw him she shook her head and whirled back to her husband. "No!"

There was no relief when Anakin turned his gaze from Obi-Wan, who could bear it, to Padmé, who was unprepared for what she saw behind his eyes. "You're with him," the Sith snarled, stepping toward her.

"No," she said again, shaking her head. "No, I didn't know–"

But her words were cut off as the heated fury of Anakin Skywalker turned ice cold with a sudden resolve. "You've betrayed me," he said to his wife, and lifted his hand. "You brought him here to kill me."

"Please, Anakin, I swear, I–"

She did not get a chance to finish. The Force closed around her like a fist, like her shaking hands that reached for her neck as she was lifted bodily from the permacrete, legs twitching, eyes round.

This snapped Obi-Wan out of his daze and made him step forward. "Let her go, Anakin."

But his former Padawan ignored his former friend and stared at his wife, cold and relentless in the thrall of his own anger. Obi-Wan reached for his saber but his next words left him of their own volition. He was weak, he must have been, for he wanted them to strike. "She is the mother of your children, Anakin. Let. Her.  _Go."_

The invisible grip around Padmé eased and she collapsed to the permacrete, gasping and coughing. A brush with the Force confirmed she was not in critical danger, so Obi-Wan turned his full attention to the man who stalked to him through the darkness and heat.

"You have turned her against me," Anakin growled as he approached.

Obi-Wan shook his head. "You have done that, yourself. Look around you, Anakin," he added, sweeping his arm across the landing platform, where Mustafar roiled beneath their feet. "Is this the life you wanted for her, and you? For your family?"

Was it a trick of the light, or his foolish hope, that he caught a glimmer of  _Anakin_ behind the fire in his eyes? Obi-Wan clung to hope.

Which crumbled at Anakin's next words. "Don't lecture me, Obi-Wan. The Jedi will never accept me. They are liars and hypocrites. They are weak. The Republic has broken because of their weakness. Only the Sith are strong enough to rebuild."

"The Sith?" Obi-Wan shook his head. "You mean Palpatine? Do you truly believe he cares for you – and your family? After he ordered you to murder younglings in their cribs?"

Anakin blinked, but it was a fleeting expression and he stalked closer, body poised in a ready stance Obi-Wan had taught him. How long ago, it seemed now. "Don't make me kill you."

" _You_  are the only one responsible for your actions," Obi-Wan replied. "You may be the Chosen One, but you also have a choice, Anakin. You always have a choice." But the Sith's pace did not slow. Obi-Wan's heart sank further, though his hand crept to his saber; he would need it, soon. Too soon. It was always too soon, with Anakin.

"Liar," Anakin snarled again, and ignited his saber.

The blades screamed upon impact. What was ordinarily bright, shining blue was dim next to the fires of Mustafar. Obi-Wan's body rattled with the strength of Anakin's blows. The younger man had always been strong, but there was a brutality to his movements now that had never been there before. Obi-Wan blocked what he could and darted away to give himself a moment to gather his own fortitude.

For he would need it.

By now, Padmé had risen, though she seemed wisely reluctant to throw herself in the middle of two men in lightsaber combat. But the Force wept along with her, and her pleas fell dully against the heat-filled air.

Did Anakin see her? Hear her? If not her, if not Obi-Wan, what would snap him out of the darkness that had consumed his heart? Would anything? Cody and his men were nearby, awaiting Obi-Wan's signal, but he was starting to think this was not a battle that could be won by soldiers.

In the back of his mind, the Force sang,  _Move._ Obi-Wan ducked and rolled forward, and Anakin's blue blade pierced the air where he had stood a heartbeat ago. When he was upright again, the tableau before him was something out of a nightmare. Anakin, cloaked in shadows, stalked past his pregnant wife and ignored her cries. There was only hatred in his gaze and death in his intent as he angled the blade of his body for Obi-Wan. His hand tightened around the hilt of his saber in, Obi-Wan knew, anticipation of delivering a killing blow. The Force resonated with his determination. One way or another, this would end soon.

And then...

A memory of Kali's voice crept over him softly, gently, like a hand upon his cheek.  _"There was no other way, Ben. He was a stranger to me in that moment, but beneath all of it – the anger and the fear – he was still Stonewall. He was still the man I loved, and I couldn't fight him."_

_No,_ he thought, his breath hitching.  _No, this cannot be right. It cannot..._

But they were so clear, these next few moments, written in the malleable future memory of the Force. Painfully clear. He would fight his brother. It would end, if not on this world, then in another place, and all the time in between would be filled with bitterness and regret.

" _You have a choice_ ," he'd said to his former student. It was the truth, except they both did.

A handful of seconds had passed. The Sith was poised to strike. Obi-Wan Kenobi gathered the Force to himself and met the eyes of the man who would kill him, the man he loved more than any other. He deactivated his saber and cast it to the permacrete, where it rolled only a meter before pausing, as if reluctant to leave his side.

His voice sounded high and thin. "This cannot continue. I surrender, Anakin."

The Sith's eyes widened a fraction, then narrowed. "Another Jedi trick," he hissed, and raised his saber.

Obi-Wan lifted his hands in a gesture meant to pacify. "I will not fight you any longer,  _vod_."

His heart stopped. His blood turned to ice.

The saber descended.

And paused, a centimeter from his neck. The weapon's hum sounded eager when laid against the furious thunder of Mustafar, but the blade itself trembled as the man wielding it stared at Obi-Wan, eyes wide and red-rimmed. "What did you call me?"

How odd it was, to smile even a little bit, right now. " _Vod,_ " Obi-Wan said quietly. "Anakin, you are my brother."

_"Vod._ " Anakin blinked and shook his head, frowning. It was not quite a frown of confusion – Anakin knew more Mando'a than Obi-Wan did – but it was similar. Dawning comprehension, perhaps. When he looked at Obi-Wan again, a little more of the Sith was gone. "Brother?"

"Yes." Obi-Wan risked a small step closer, and added to that risk with a hand on Anakin's forearm, which still held the lightsaber. "I love you, Anakin. I do not want to fight you. I want to help you."

"But I've gone too far..." Anakin tensed and drew back, though he did not deactivate the humming blade.

"You can always come back," Obi-Wan managed. "You are a Jedi, Anakin. You are a vessel for the Force, and you are my family. I will find a way to help you. But you must take the first step."

Anakin shuddered and ducked his head; the Force around him roiled, rippling like smoke and fury, and thick, flowing lava. "Don't you know what I've done?"

And then Padmé was beside him, one hand on the hand that held his saber, the other resting on his cheek. Love shone from her like a beacon in the darkness, stretching to encompass her husband. "I love you," she whispered through her tears. "That has never changed, and it never will. We can work through this. Together. Please, come back to me, Anakin."

Her hand upon his was small, but it was not weak. It was strong enough to hold onto the man within the Sith and pull him free. Anakin's saber clattered to the permacrete and rolled away, and he embraced his wife fully, burying his face in her hair as his shoulders shook.

Obi-Wan stood aside and let the couple have their moment. Where the Force around his brother had been dark and cloying, now it was shot through with streaks of light, sparkling like stars against the void.

* * *

A/N: Fox wasn't supposed to die. He really wasn't. But then, I didn't plan on writing him as much as I did in this fic, or on growing to love him like I did. However, as I wrote this chapter, I realized that the cost of Order 66 needed to be higher, especially given the next couple of scenes with Anakin & Obi-Wan.

Eight chapters left! Thank you for reading. :)


	64. Chapter Sixty-Three

Lyrics:[ "This Is Where," by The Wailin' Jennys, on  _40 Days._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vj5PLDifIaE)

* * *

**Chapter Sixty-Three**

_Will they measure me by branches?_

_Count the rings, and take my ashes?_

_Mark the ground where I fell, and carry on?_

_Or will we bite against the silence?_

_Fill our days with noise and violence,_

_And not recognize our hearts when we are done?_

_The morning after Order Sixty-Six..._

When Stonewall awoke, he was alone. For the first time in what felt like a very long time, he did not wake in confusion or fear, nor did he open his eyes only to chase away the shadows of his dreams with the more pleasant reality lying beside him. Today, he awoke to morning light filtering through an open window, and a warm, sandalwood-scented breeze ruffling silk curtains.

Kali was in the next room, the nursery; her presence in the Force was anxious, but in a far-reaching way. He should have gone to her, but he was still so tired; his head ached, his body was leaden, his thoughts sluggish. The feeling reminded him of being hungover, or being trampled by a heard of rontos, but only vaguely.

What the kriff was going on?

A soft knock on the door to their suite caught his attention. Kali's soft tread across the next room followed, then he heard the faint  _hiss_ of the door as she opened it. "Crest? You're awake, already?"

His  _vod's_ tread was heavier than Kali's, more deliberate. "Yeah. Is he..?"

Her Force-presence brushed his, gently inquiring, and retreated at once. "Still resting," Kali said quietly.

Crest's voice dropped in pitch as well, but the Force allowed Stonewall to catch each word clearly. "So are the others."

"Not you?" she teased.

Crest chuckled. "Nah. I've got a big, important holo-call." There was a beat of silence before he spoke again. "The HoloNet's been pretty useless. All I can tell is there was some kind of...coup by the Chancellor, but no one knows anything else. Have you heard anything on the Force-end of the spectrum?"

Kali's tread across the room indicated she was pacing. "Only bits and pieces. Honi comm'd me, but she only had moments to speak. She and Zara are fine. Obi-Wan's alive. So is Yoda, and several other Masters. The Temple did not fall. But..." She took a shaking breath, and her anxiety spiked. "Many Jedi cannot say the same. The clones..."

She trailed off and her footsteps paused. When she spoke next, it was plain she was crying. "So many of them fired on their Jedi. No one knows why."

Stonewall exhaled. He knew why. Fives knew why. He needed to get up; there was so much work to be done, and his wife needed him. But already his eyelids were growing heavier.

"It'll be alright," Crest said after a beat; his Force-presence flickered softly, and Stonewall could imagine his brother wrapping an arm around Kali's shoulders to comfort her. "We'll figure out what happened. Well, probably not  _me,_ but someone much wiser."

Kali laughed. "You  _are_ wise, Crest."

"Hmm. Have you met me?"

The anxiety within Kali's presence eased; Stonewall imagined her sinking into into Crest's embrace. Gratitude filled him for the fact that his  _vod_ was there for her when he was unable. Indeed, Kali's next words were easier. "You should get some more rest."

"Yeah, that was quite a, er...stunt we pulled earlier." Crest was quiet a moment, then, "Um...what, exactly did we do?"

Stonewall frowned. What the  _shab_  was he talking about? What stunt?

"I'm...not certain," Kali said, sighing. "The best I can determine is that we all...lent our energy to Stonewall so he could accomplish...whatever he was trying to do. I think..." She was silent for a beat. "I think it has something to do with the clones firing on their Jedi. Stopping it, I mean."

"It was weird," Crest replied after a moment's silence. "It was sort of like what happened on the way to Kamino, when Mi...called us, or whatever."

"Stone called you through the Force?"

"Sort of. Not really. I don't know. It wasn't a  _call,_ exactly, more like a tap on the shoulder, or some kind of...instinct. Like someone saying, 'hey, come here, dummy!'" Crest exhaled deeply. "It was weird."

Kali did not reply immediately. "I don't know, Crest. Maybe Stone will have more answers."

"But he's not exactly up to share intel at the moment."

Kali's awareness extended to his; he tried to reach back, but his mind was foggy and it was difficult to manage much more than the mental, Force-equivalent of a sleepy grunt. "No," she said after a beat. "He's drained and exhausted. I want to let him rest as much as he needs before I interrogate him."

_You can interrogate me all you want,_ Kali'ka _,_ he thought wryly. An answering light trickle of amusement filtered through her awareness.

Heedless of any of this, Crest's next words were all duty. "I should get going. Hey, maybe Senator Organa will have more intel."

"Maybe," Kali replied. Neither spoke for a moment, and the muffled sound of footsteps indicated Crest was heading to the door. When they paused, Kali added, "Thank you."

"No need for that," Crest replied. "You know we're all team players. Even when  _osik_ gets weird. We've got your six, and his too. Always."

"I know," Kali said, though her voice cracked as if she were crying again. "And we've got yours."

There was a smile in Crest's voice. "Oh, I know. And personally, having a Jedi and a Force-sensitive clone in my corner makes this whole ordeal with CETOC a bit easier to stomach."

"Crest."

Another pause. "Yeah?"

"Don't..." Kali hesitated, then seemed to push on. "Don't give up on her."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Don't play  _di'kut,_ " Kali said gently. "You  _do_  know. Just like _I_ know what's between you two is none of my business, but...don't give up on her. At least not yet."

Crest took a deep breath, but his voice was quiet and serious. "Copy that,  _vod._ " There was yet another pause before he added, in a far more jovial tone, "Now, I'm going to channel our dear medic and your former Padawan, and order  _you_  to get some kriffing rest."

She chuckled and he sighed, adding, "Ah, don't salute me like that. It goes right to my head."

"Force forbid," she replied, and the door slid shut. Her steps were soft as she moved through their rooms; within moments, she was slipping into bed beside Stonewall. "Oh, you're so warm," she murmured, pressing herself close and wrapping an arm around his waist.

Moving was too much effort; all he could do in response was twine his Force-presence with hers and savor her bright spirit. Neither spoke. Together they drifted into sleep.

* * *

Three cups of caf and a plate of nuna eggs later, Crest was about as awake as he was going to get. Which, unfortunately, wasn't a lot.

"No new information, I'm afraid." Senator Organa's face and voice were distorted through the hologram, but Crest wondered if they'd each had about the same amount of sleep. "Anakin Skywalker is suspected of some sort of attack on the Jedi Temple, and is MIA. Master Kenobi has been sent after him. We've heard rumors that several key Separatist leaders have been reported missing, but nothing has been confirmed. The Chancellor has," his brows drew together, though Crest thought it was not entirely in surprise, "also been reported MIA."

Crest leaned forward and resisted the urge to rub his eyes. "With respect, sir, that's quite a bit more news than we've gotten out here in the Rim."

"Oh?" Organa laced his fingers and looked from Crest to Yxias, also tapping into the holo-conference-call. "So you don't know about the attack on the Jedi?"

Unlike the Human males, the Gand female seemed awake and refreshed, even through the flickering hologram. "This Gand humbly begs Senator Organa's forgiveness, but we are in gross ignorance of the events to which Senator Organa and Trooper Crest are referring."

"Forgiven, of course," Organa replied easily. "Though I wish I had happier news to share. Aside from Anakin Skywalker and Chancellor Palpatine, I'm afraid," his gaze slid to Crest, "the clone army has also been implicated in last night's attack on the Jedi."

Yxias' multifaceted eyes glittered as she, too, regarded Crest, and he wanted to shrink back in his chair.  _I didn't do anything wrong!_ But some of his brothers  _had_ , for some reason. So he could not fault either Organa or Yxias for looking at him with such...unease.

"We are saddened beyond measure to learn of this tragedy," Yxias said after a beat, head bowing. "Please tell us how CETOC may be of service to the Republic in the wake of these horrific events."

Organa gave her a thin smile. "That remains to be seen, I'm afraid. I have spoken with Masters Kenobi and Yoda, who informed me that the clones were given some sort of...blanket order that had them assassinate their Jedi officers."

"An order?" Crest sat up slowly, his heart starting to beat faster. "What sort of order?"

"You did not know?" When Crest shook his head, Organa sighed heavily. "According to Captain Rex and Commander Cody, who were with Skywalker and Kenobi, respectively, it is a contingency order in case of Jedi...rebellion, or some such nonsense. Order Sixty-Six."

Ice swept through Crest's veins and it was an effort to speak. "Holy kriff..."

"I take it you  _have_  heard of this order?" Organa asked.

Crest winced. There was no judgment in the other man's voice, but he thought there should have been. "Yes, sir." He took a deep, steadying breath and sat upright. "It's a contingency protocol. One of many that are flash-trained into all clones at a very young age, so that they are not part of our waking consciousness; they're almost like...instincts. To be honest, I had never thought about it once until you mentioned it just now. I imagine it's the same for all of my brothers."

Yxias regarded him with an expression he could not read – and it was not due solely to her anatomy being unfamiliar to him. "Would Trooper Crest say, then, that the clone soldiers who carried out this order were not acting out of malice?"

"That's really not for me to say..." But both Yxias and Organa regarded him, waiting for a real answer, so after a moment he sighed again. "Off the top of my head, without personally knowing each clone in the GAR, I'd have to say that...no, the clones who followed that order did not do so because they  _wanted_  to kill those they'd fought beside for years."

"Good to hear," Organa said, nodding. "Commander Cody and Captain Rex said much the same thing."

"It's not personal, sir," Crest added. "Just orders. And I imagine the men who fired on their Jedi feel pretty kriffing terrible about it."

Fek, even the  _thought_  made his stomach churn. How would  _he_ feel if he'd fired on Kali? If they'd been in the field somewhere... If Stonewall had turned to his men, lifted his pistols, and said, grimly, " _Orders are orders."_

_No effing way. Stonewall would_ never _... Fek,_ I _would never..._

_Right?_

"This is bad, isn't it?" he heard himself say, looking between the senator and the CETOC representative. "I mean both in general, and for the clones."

Organa nodded once. "It's why I did not cancel this meeting. No offense to either of you, of course, but as you can imagine, the Senate is in turmoil. That is why Senator Mothma could not be present." He didn't mention Senator Amidala, which Crest noted but did not comment on. "But we have worked too hard for this cause to relent now, and I thought it best to address the coming issues sooner rather than later."

"The Republic will place blame upon the shoulders of the clone army," Yxias said slowly, eyes glittering. "But it seems that blame is unwarranted. It is CETOC's mission, then, to ensure the brave soldiers are given equitable consideration in these trying times."

Both Organa and Yxias looked at Crest, and he felt the weight of their gazes settle upon him like so much armor. When he spoke, his voice, too, was heavier. "What can I do?"

"CETOC's cause will be all the more difficult," Organa said. "Crest, your voice and perspective, as that of a 'normal' clone, will be needed much sooner than anticipated."

Okay, there was quite a bit there to dissect, but one thing jumped out at Crest. "A 'normal' clone, sir?"

"No doubt command clones like Rex and Cody will speak on their brothers' behalf," Organa replied. "But as I said, the Senate is in turmoil, and it is a state that is magnified in the galaxy. Dooku and Grievous are dead, and if the rumors about the Separatist leaders is true, then the Wars are ostensibly over. However, even in that best-case scenario, I fear the battle is just beginning. The galaxy is in shreds; we must work to repair what we can. Officers will likely be needed elsewhere."

"We understand that Trooper Crest has not yet officially pledged himself to this great service, but we..." Yxias hesitated, then took a deep breath of her own. "We humbly beg that Trooper Crest begins work for CETOC, and departs for Coruscant within three rotations' time."

He nearly choked on the yawn he was trying to fight back. "Three rotations...?"

" _Months_ ," they'd said. " _You'll have months before you need to make a decision_." The RC was just getting off the ground. Misfit Squad was still in terrible shape. Kali and Stonewall had a baby on the way – a nephew, for him and his  _vode_ – and Sita...

" _Don't give up on her,"_  Kali had said. He'd never stop thinking of Sita, dreaming of her. But even after all of this, they were still so far away from each other. By his own,  _di'kut_  design.

Or were they? Was the distance between them, maybe, possibly, in his own mind and nowhere else? Could they still be on opposite sides of the galaxy if the galaxy had been torn apart?

As it often did in both his dreams and his waking hours, her voice reverberated through his mind.  _"If you have an opportunity to do any bit of good you should not let it pass. If you believe in this cause, you should see it through."_

Sita was right. And she should know; she'd fardling  _lived_ each word she uttered. She was pretty spectacular that way.

"Trooper Crest?"

"Alright," he said, sitting up straight and saluting, because this moment felt like it needed a touch of formality. "I'm in. Just tell me where to go and when. And," he winced, "uh...I don't have any credits, or a ship, so I'm not sure how I could get to Corrie without hitchhiking, or something illegal..."

Organa smiled. "Do not trouble yourself about that, right now."

"Funds have already been acquired and travel arranged," Yxias added, her eyes glittering with what Crest thought was excitement. "Trooper Crest will be contacted shortly with the details. In the meantime," the Gand ducked her head in a bow, "CETOC humbly thanks Trooper Crest for his willingness to help this worthy cause. No doubt Trooper Crest will be remembered in the memories of Republic citizens, as well as the Gand, for this great service."

"And your clone brothers, as well, though they may not realize it, at the moment. It will be a battle, Crest," Organ added. "But I am confident it is a battle you can not only fight, but win."

Well, fek. That made his face get hot like nothing else. "Uh...thanks."

_Nice. There's the wit and charm you were recruited for._ But he fought back the sarcastic thought and saluted again; even if he didn't  _feel_ like a capable soldier, he could damn sure present a convincing picture. "I mean, thank you, sir. And you, Yxias," he added, nodding to the Gand. "I'll do my best."

Multifaceted eyes sparkled back at him. "We know."

* * *

_The next day..._

Weave took a deep breath and met Cobble's gaze, peering at him from the other side of the bacta tank. "Initializing in three...two...one... _now_."

One tap against his datapad. So simple, really. He held his breath as the data feedback from the nanos began to stream across the 'pad's screen, then looked at Zero, floating peacefully in the tank. Several IV lines trailed away from his arm; two were for the transmission of nutrients and were common when a patient was anticipated to be in bacta for more than a few hours. One, though...

Of course Weave could not see the microscopic droids with his eyes, but he knew they were rushing through Zero's veins. Going by the simulations, they would start to work within a few moments, and, in theory, could have Zero's telomeres restructured in a few rotations.

If they were successful, this would be nothing short of miraculous.

If they failed...

He glanced again at his fellow medic, whose eyes darted between the three tanks. "How are their stats, Cob?"

Cobble held up one thumb and nodded quickly, though he did not lift his gaze from the control panel of Rime's tank, where the clone's vitals were being monitored. It was the all-good sign they'd worked out. Weave nodded and stepped over to Trig's tank; of the three volunteers – he  _refused_ to think of them as test subjects – Trig's aging was the most interesting, because it was abnormal, even by clone standards. As things stood now, Trig had perhaps another year left. Maybe two, if he was very lucky.

If the nanos worked, he could have another decade...or more.

_And the rest of us..._ Weave blinked rapidly and looked back at his 'pad while his mind remained on the possibilities. The entire  _shabla_ galaxy was even more chaotic than it'd been a day ago, but  _this_  he could control. This little bit of good, he could do. Stonewall could watch his child grow up.

He moved on to Rime's tank to stand beside Cobble. A normal lifespan. What sort of effect would that have on clone psyches, trained from gestation to consider themselves as disposable as their time was brief?

_Best leave that to psychologists_ , he thought wryly and glanced at Rime's face. But his stomach flipped at the way Rime's brow furrowed and mouth twisted in what he thought was pain. All three clones had been knocked out with conergin, and should not have been able to feel anything.

"Cobble? Their readings are still normal?"

"Cobble," the other medic said, holding up a finger in the galactic symbol for "wait a moment," as he frowned at Rime, who wore a similar expression of pain. Cobble glanced between Rime and the control panel on Rime's tank, then, carefully and with great effort, said, "El...vat..ed...har...t...raaate."

There was no time for Weave's surprise; that luxury could be afforded later, once their  _vode_ were taken care of. Without missing a beat, he skimmed the readouts from the nanos and the sensors hooked to Rime's body, in case something was critical. All readings were normal and the nanos were hard at work.

Apparently it just...hurt. "Increase the nyex drip by point-oh-two percent," he said to Cobble. "Let's see if that helps."

Cobble nodded and entered the information on the tank's panel; within moments, the dose of painkiller increased fractionally, and Rime's forehead smoothed. "Cobble," the other medic said, relief evident in his voice as he placed a hand on Rime's tank.

But Weave had already moved on. Though their bodies' readings were within acceptable parameters, Zero and Trig both were showing signs of being in pain. "Cob, let's do the same for them as well," he said, standing before Trig's tank.

Cobble darted for Zero's tank, then Trig's, and within moments, each clone's features relaxed. The medbay was quiet save for the bubbling tanks and the steady, mechanical song of the monitors. Weave glanced at his 'pad again. The feedback from the nanos remained consistent – and consistently positive. Judging by the rate at which they were working, the process would be complete in just over one rotation.

" _Shab,_ that's even faster than the sims," he murmured, shaking his head at the screen.

His fellow medic stood beside him, craning his head to see the information. "Cobble?"

"No." Weave pressed the 'pad to his chest to hide the screen and looked at the other man. "Ask me. With words."

Cobble knitted his brows and pursed his lips, confusion – and hurt – evident in his eyes. But Weave steeled himself against the other clone's emotions. "You can do it, Cob," he said gently. "Tell me what you want."

Cobble looked away, biting his lip and wringing his hands. His mouth opened but no sound came out. He frowned, then squeezed his eyes shut in sheer concentration. But still...

"Cobble," he said at last, sighing and shaking his head. His eyes darted to Rime's tank once more before he winced and looked back at his hands, twisting in the hem of his fatigues.

Weave continued to regard the other medic, for he knew that expression. It was not one he'd seen often in one clone regarding another, but he'd seen it enough to recognize what his eyes showed him. Based off of the stories Milo, Stonewall and the other guys from Misfit Squad had shared, there were no romantic connections between any of those men. How could there have been, when there was no closeness or affection? How difficult must Cob's life have been, if he did not know what to do with those feelings? If, that is, he even recognized them for what they were. Unlikely.

So Weave tucked his 'pad in his belt, put a hand on Cobble's shoulder, catching the other clone's attention. "Try one more time," he said quietly. "Please."

Cobble frowned and shook his head.

"Levy found his voice. You can, too."

"Cobble." It was a sharp, angry sound; it echoed with a bitterness Weave had not heard before.

So he squeezed Cob's shoulder, gently. "Something different, then. Try to say 'Rime.'"

Cobble's eyes widened and his cheeks darkened, but his gaze slid toward the blind clone in the bacta tank. He watched the other man for a moment, then took a deep breath. "R..."

"Good," Weave said. "Keep going."

Nodding, Cobble cleared his throat. "Rii..." The word petered out but he clenched his fists, squeezed his eyes shut and managed a slurred, "Rii...mmmee."

When his eyes opened and fell upon Weave, they were wet and wide with awe. Weave was no better off. "Holy kriff, Cob," he whispered. "You did it. You  _did_ it!"

"Rime," Cobble said, grinning hugely even as he swiped at his eyes. "Rime!"

"He'll be delighted to hear that when he wakes up," Weave managed. "Along with the normalized aging thing as well. Good news, all around."

Cobble's smile was too big for his face, and he pressed his hand against Rime's tank once more, murmuring the blind clone's name.

And Weave watched, suddenly too full of joy to speak. But he didn't give a kriff about irony at the moment.

_This is what it means_ , he thought,  _to help my brothers_.

* * *

_Meanwhile..._

_The first step to becoming an Antarian Ranger is not achieving the rank of Explorer, (apprentice), or even entering basic training, It is the rigorous application process, in which all potential recruits are held to the same exacting standards that the Rangers hold their own. In addition to completing the attached questionnaire and submitting their full medical records, the most qualified applicants enclose a recommendation by a ranking member of the Jedi Order, (Knight or Master, preferred.)_

"Check," Milo said with a grin. "Well, almost..." Kali hadn't given him the recommendation yet, but he knew she was working on it. She had a lot on her plate, after all.

A soft snarl came from the anooba resting between his feet. Kot was sprawled at the foot of his bunk, happily shredding an old towel; Milo nudged him with his bare foot and the pup glanced up, ears lifted, tongue lolling down the side of his jaws.

"You're a good boy, aren't you?" Milo said, rubbing at Kot's side with his big toe. "No matter what  _ba'vodu_  Crest says. You show that old towel who's in charge." In response, the anooba's eyes lidded in bliss before he gave a fierce – yet high-pitched – growl and shook the towel.

Chuckling, Milo leaned back on his pillow and continued to scroll through the 'pad. The questionnaire looked fairly standard; he'd never had a substance abuse problem and his eyesight was perfect – naturally – and he ticked off all of the rest of the physical requirements, though he did pause to frown at his left arm, which still tingled, sometimes. But he could still shoot, and Weave had declared him "recovered" according to GAR standards. If Milo's arm was good enough for the GAR, it was good enough for the Rangers.

He attached the file containing his latest medical records, courtesy of Upala, to the application, and moved on to the next phase. His eyes glazed over at the kriffing massive list of questions supposed to – according to the information bar at the top of the screen –  _assess an applicant's emotional and mental soundness._

"Emotional and mental soundness," Milo repeated, brow furrowing as he scrolled through the list. " _Shab_ , they mean business, don't they? Kot, listen to this. 'Question Forty-Five: Are you currently in a personal relationship that is emotionally, physically or sexually abusive?' Um, no, but I wonder if Creon Dai counts as emotionally and physically abusive. 'Question Eighty-Three: Do you often have recurring thoughts of death, dying and/or suicide?'"

Milo frowned at the screen. He was a soldier, and by definition of the word had thought about that stuff a lot. Would that disqualify him?

"What do you think, Kot?" he asked, nudging the pup's side again. A squeaking growl was his only response, though Kot pressed his side into Milo's toe; he was warm and soft, and a few weeks of regular feeding and exercise had added some much-needed fat to his growing body. Within a few months, he'd start to shed his downy coat of baby fur, and – according to the HoloNet – he'd be full-grown in a couple of years.

But he was a youngling now, and his main focus had shifted from the towel to Milo's bedspread. Sighing, Milo set the 'pad down, reached for the towel, and began to dangle it in front of Kot's nose. "No, buddy, eat this," he said as the pup dropped the bedspread and fixed his dark eyes on the towel. Even this small and gangly, he was a hunter. The evidence was written in his posture and alertness as he tracked his "prey," before he seized the fabric with his tusks and tugged it roughly from Milo's hand.

Satisfied, Milo turned his attention back to the questionnaire.  _Question One-Hundred and Sixteen: Do you feel compelled to repetitively perform certain actions or rituals that have little practical merit?_

"Remembrance," Milo said aloud. Kot's ears twitched, but Milo only stared at the 'pad's screen without really seeing it. He said the Mando'a phrase every night before he went to sleep; it was his way of honoring his  _vode_ who had fallen in battle, while somehow, he'd been lucky enough to escape with a single scar.

But was that a bad thing? Was it wrong to remember your comrades who'd died? Maybe it was a weakness, according to the Rangers. Or maybe they wanted more than a clone who could run fast and see perfectly. Kriff, according to Crest, the entire galaxy had nearly been torn apart by clones – both from the Wars and the execution of Order Sixty-Six.

How would the Rangers, a group of Jedi-sympathizers if there ever were any, view a clone who sought to join their ranks?

"Maybe it's for the best if I don't even try," he told Kot as he closed the application screen and set the 'pad down. "I doubt they'd want a clone after all that's happened. Besides, you're still a baby. You can't go traipsing all over the galaxy."

Kot looked up, tufted ears lifting as he regarded the Human speaking to him. With each word, his head tilted and his large eyes focused on Milo, who just  _knew_ he was listening. It was nice, in a silly way, to confide in someone who couldn't talk back. He loved his brothers and Kali, and knew any of them would be glad to talk him through his fears, but this felt...different. Entirely his, and as such, the decision to proceed – or not – had to also be his and his alone.

Maybe he was fooling himself. Maybe he should stay here, with his  _vode_ and Misfit Squad; at least here, he was welcome. At least here, he knew how to live.

Milo sighed and leaned into his pillow. He should get up, maybe grab some grub or pull another shift at the RC. Anything for a distraction. The ache in his chest would pass in time; sorrow, in its way, always did.

Kot yipped.

Fek, it was high-pitched and  _loud_ , and it started Milo out of his self-pity. "What the...?"

He glanced around and caught a flashing, green light at the top of his 'pad; an incoming message. Sitting upright, Milo activated the screen and glanced at the transmission's source.  _Kali's recommendation._ He winced; should he tell her his decision? Would she be disappointed in him for not even trying? Maybe he should act like he sent it off and just got rejected. That would spare all of them the embarrassment.

After a brief mental debate, he opened the letter's file.

_To Whom It May Concern,_

_I have only known the clone trooper CT-6396, better known to me as "Milo," a short time – by galactic standards, at any rate. We were assigned to work together nearly two years ago, and prior to this, I had only encountered a few clones._

_If you are not familiar with the clone army, then I fear Milo would be a less-than-ideal introduction–_

His heart sank. Was this a recommendation or a reprimand? Steeling himself for the worst, he continued reading.

– _because he is no ordinary clone. Milo is an exemplary_ man _, and as I write this, I am proud beyond measure to include his bright spirit among those I call "family."_

_If my opinion as a Jedi Knight of this great Republic is worth anything to you, then I will say also that there are few men braver or more compassionate than Milo. Throughout our years of working together, Milo has proven both his willingness to help others, and his loyalty to the Jedi Order and the Republic. His bravery, his constant drive to improve his life as well as those around him, and his innate compassion all humble me and embody everything that is good in the galaxy, particularly in these dark times._

_Without Milo's courage, strength, and indomitable good will, I would not be the Jedi I am, my husband would be lost to me forever, and my son would not have a father._

_In his brief time in this galaxy, I am certain that Milo has achieved more than his creators intended – or imagined._

_I am also certain that, should you admit him into your esteemed ranks, there is no limit to what he will achieve in the future._

_Thank you for your consideration,_

_Kalinda Ki Halcyon_

Her contact information followed, but Milo could hardly see the words on the screen, for his vision was blurred and his eyes were burning. Perhaps sensing something was  _off_ , Kot abandoned his towel and crept into Milo's lap, whining softly and licking Milo's hands.

It took Milo the better part of ten, sniffing minutes to collect himself, but once he did, he picked up the 'pad and resolutely answered every one of those fardling ridiculous questions. An hour later, he submitted the application. Once he did, he found himself too full of happiness and hope to do more than curl up with Kot nestled in his side.

He would tell her he sent it, soon. For now, all he could do was think,  _Thank you,_ and hope, somehow, she knew.

* * *

A/N: Look, I'll be honest with you guys. Kali didn't have a middle name until literally just now, when I wrote this chapter. In my head canon, it's not something she "advertised" a lot during her youth, as no one was supposed to know her Master was her dad, (and Jonas' last name was "Ki.") But here...it fit.


	65. Chapter Sixty-Four

Note: This chapter references events from the fic, _Old Wounds._

Lyrics:[ "Us and Them," by Pink Floyd, from _Dark Side Of the Moon._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nDbeqj-1XOo)(Though, I must give a shout-out to the Easy Star All-Star's cover of this album. If you like reggae, give it a listen!)

* * *

**Chapter Sixty-Four**

_Black and blue,_

_And who knows which is which,_

_And who is who?_

_Up and down._

_And in the end,_

_It's only round and round and round._

_Several days later..._

Kali sipped her tea and regarded him over the brim of the mug.

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. "Stop doing that."

"What?"

"Looking at me like I'm a narglatch in a zoo."

"It's just so strange," she said with a sigh. "You're _here."_

"I've been on Aruna before," he replied dryly. "Or have you forgotten?"

As if she ever could. But Kali set her mug upon the cafeteria table and rested her chin in her hand. "It feels different, now."

"Perhaps it's just _you_ who is different," he said, lifting a brow.

"Well, that's true enough."

She toyed with the bottom edge of her mug and glanced over her shoulder around the bustling mess hall. It was not the sort of stark, pale space found in most medical facilities; the walls were painted a warm blue, and wide windows looked over the green spaces within the RC, where several of the center's patients were mapping out a soon-to-be garden.

However, it seemed most of the RC's patients were eating dinner along with herself and Ben, for there was nothing was quite as loud as several dozen clones chattering away. Even though Kali knew most by name and encouraged those who were comfortable with the notion to address her by name rather than title, the men had given the Jedi a wide berth. "Kali" she may have been to some, but Obi-Wan was still very much "General Kenobi," and as such, warranted a great deal of respect. And room.

"But it's not _just_ me who's different." She slanted Ben with her own, knowing look.

At this, Obi-Wan lifted a hand to stroke his beard thoughtfully. "None of us are the same. Even the galaxy has changed. Irrevocably."

"Do you really think..." She hesitated. "Do you think Palpatine can be found?"

"I hope so. Anakin is determined to track the former Chancellor down, once his own house arrest is over."

"And when will that be?"

"Several weeks, at least." Obi-Wan rested both arms on the table, on either side of his mug. His blue eyes were shadowed. "There was some debate on the matter, but ultimately the Council feels that he will not attempt to leave Coruscant any time soon. I agree."

Kali took a drink of her tea. "House arrest?"

"I know it seems mild," Obi-Wan replied. "But Anakin has always been something of a loose ion cannon. The Council decided that, for now, keeping him close at hand is the wisest course of action."

She tried to ignore the pang of hurt at the knowledge that Anakin's punishment had been far less severe than her own, for a far worse infraction. Not to mention the fact that such "punishment" involved _living_ with the ones he loved most, rather than being forcibly separated from them...

 _Let it go_ , she told herself. _It doesn't matter now._ But she could not keep a bitter tint from her next words. "Lucky for him."

Obi-Wan studied her for what felt like a very long moment. "I know, Kali. And I'm sorry. It's not fair, but it's the way things are – for now."

She frowned. "For now? That sounds ominous."

"Anakin did not _completely_ fall to the dark," Obi-Wan said quietly, his gaze going distant. "But he has done terrible things. He has admitted his crimes and he _will_ face disciplinary action. However...given the state of the galaxy, and the fact that a known Sith Lord is at large, the Council is willing to judge him with due consideration, if he assists in Palpatine's arrest – and conviction."

It was quite a bit to wrap her mind around, so Kali was silent as she considered. "He really did kill those Jedi, didn't he?"

By now, she'd heard the stories from _that night_ at the Temple, though most of the recounting had been of a perfunctory sort. Honi and Zara were safe; Master Windu was badly injured, but recovering. Kit Fisto, another of her dear friends, was gone. Kali's heart tightened at the memory of his wide, beaming smile, and it was with some chagrin she could not quite recall the last time they'd spoken; on Basrah, she thought, on the mission she'd met Stonewall, but that was two years ago, now...

A great, heavy sigh escaped her old friend. "Yes. And he would have killed me, too, if not for..." He trailed off and took a deliberate drink from his mug. "In any case, he is committed to making things right again."

No doubt there was a deeper story to what Ben was telling her and she would get it out of him – eventually. Nodding, Kali tried to keep her tone conversational. "Where is Anakin now?"

"Five Hundred Republica," Obi-Wan said, sipping his tea casually before he added, "with his wife and their newborns."

Kali knew she was goggling, but she didn't give a kriff. "Sweet stars! His...?"

"Yes."

"And his...?"

Obi-Wan set his mug down and gave her a chiding look. "Yes. I fail to see how _you,_ of all people, can be scandalized by such a thing."

Kali leaned back in her chair and rested her hands below the growing swell of her stomach. "It's just...I still remember him as a boy. And now, apparently, he's a father. Of _twins._ And...who's his wife, that he's living in _that_ part of town?"

"Senator Amidala." Obi-Wan sipped his tea. "It's been all over the news. Surely you've seen?"

The din in the mess rose a few decibels as another wave of newcomers entered, fresh from physical therapy. Kali shrugged. _I've been a little too preoccupied to keep up with the latest celebrity gossip_ , she said to him through their Force-bond. _Besides, that's what I have_ you _for._

Rather than reply immediately, he glanced around the room, his eyes skimming over the assembled men. A slight frown touched his mouth as he looked back at her, a question in his eyes, so Kali sat up and cleared her throat. "I'm sorry it's so crowded," she said, indicating the room. "With Altis' transfers, plus the first wave from the medcenters, Aruna is brimming with clones."

"Yes, well, that _is_ the idea." He glanced around again, frowning a bit deeper. "Where is Cody? He and Rex were supposed to bring the ARC trooper–"

"Are you sure you can't stay for the official grand opening tomorrow?" she broke in, setting a hand on his arm, urging him to meet her eyes. "Sita's going all out. Apparently there's going to be enough food to feed a small army, which is ironic, considering–"

"Kali."

She took a deep, long swig of her tea. "Ben."

Obi-Wan regarded her with knitted brows. "Where are Cody, Rex and Fives, and where is Stonewall?"

"Stonewall?" Kali made a show of glancing around the cafeteria. "Hmm. I'm sure he's here, somewhere. I can't seem to get rid of him..."

"Kali..."

"Don't 'Kali' me," she replied, setting down her mug. "Stone's a grown man. We're married, but I'm not his keeper. He's allowed to move around the galaxy without being glued to my side."

But Obi-Wan was not fooled. He crossed his arms before his chest and gave her his best "Master Kenobi" glare. "Stop trying to distract me with semantics. This was supposed to be a simple pick up. ARC trooper Fives' testimony is needed in the upcoming investigation into Palpatine's activities, and I've been assigned with returning him to Coruscant safely. And," he arched his brow, " _efficiently_."

"And you will," she assured him, flashing her sweetest smile. "Soon. Ish."

"What the blazes does that mean?"

Kali exhaled sharply. "It means Stonewall, Cody, Rex, Fives, and the rest of my guys are currently discussing matters of strategic import, so in the meantime, you and I should take a nice, long tour of the RC."

Obi-Wan stroked his beard again, lips twitching in an attempt to hide his amusement. "'Matters of strategic import?' You mean gossiping. I've worked with clones, too, you know."

"They've all been through a lot," she replied quietly. "Let them have some time together. You know what it means to them."

He considered her a moment more before nodding slowly. "Very well," he said, getting to his feet. Faster than a thought, he'd crossed to her side of the table to offer his hand. "Show me what you've been working on, all these months."

"You won't be disappointed." Kali slipped out of her own seat and they started for the exit.

* * *

_Meanwhile..._

Rex shifted on the small pillow and cast a dubious look at Cody. "When was the last time you ate sitting on the floor?"

"Bothawui," Cody muttered, reaching for his glass. "This is better."

"Food, alcohol and a lack of clankers shooting as us tend to have that effect," Fives added, nodding as a tray of steaming rice was set before them. This was, of course, in addition to the piles of flatbread, roasted-topato-and-vegetable things, and the nuna and nerf bathed in sauces that made Rex's mouth water despite his disbelief at the sheer amount of food presented.

"Kriffing hell," Rex said with a glance across the low table. "Trax, is this much food...normal on this world?"

The scarred clone nodded. "You get used to it, sir. Though," he frowned at the next table over, where the men dubbed as "Misfit Squad" were digging into the stacks of food, "I would advise stepping up the calisthenics if you don't want to blow up to the size of a ronto."

Rex could not remember the last time he was in a civilian establishment quite like this. In some ways, the restaurant didn't feel like a civvy place at all; including himself and Cody, there were sixteen clones within a relatively small space. It was not a large room to begin with, so the soldiers filled almost every table, though none of the other patrons or the staff seemed to mind. Quite the opposite, really; mostly he and the others were shot friendly smiles and nods. One elderly Arunai woman had even approached Cody and _thanked_ him for the clones' service.

It was an attitude that had been mirrored in Rudral since their arrival a few hours ago, and honestly, Rex was a bit baffled. But it was refreshing to have civvies treat the clones with respect. Not that he needed praise for doing what he was engineered to do, but a simple _thank you_ added to the warm, fuzzy feeling in Rex's gut that had started after his first drink.

Said feeling also – almost – made up for the curious Arunai custom of forgoing proper chairs in favor of sitting on pillows at low tables. At least there were utensils.

The Twi'lek seated beside Traxis – Ares, the lone non-clone – gave the scarred soldier a warm look. "I have heard tales of your, ah, fondness for calisthenics."

To Rex's amusement, Trax's ears turned red, though he only shrugged and took a bite of his flatbread. "Well, the shinies needed to be whipped into shape."

Ares chuckled, and as Rex reached for a bowl of nuna covered in green sauce, he surreptitiously tried to study him, for the civvy looked _very_ familiar...

"Be careful with that stuff, Captain," Stonewall said, settling down on Trax's other side. "It'll burn the taste buds off your tongue if you're not careful."

Rex examined the greenish-blue sauce; it looked harmless enough and smelled a bit like spigage, but still, it was probably smarter to heed the other man's warning. He spooned a small amount onto his plate and scanned the rest of the food, debating about what to attack next.

By contrast, Fives had piled his plate high, allowing everything to mix together. As he grabbed a piece of bread, he looked at Stonewall. "Where's the rest of Shadow? I thought you lot were all coming to this gathering."

Stonewall and Traxis exchanged glances before the captain – rather, the _former_ captain – replied, ticking off on his fingers. "Weave's in his lab, along with a few other guys from Misfit. He said he'd come out when he was done, but–"

"He's been so fardling secretive," Traxis broke in, rolling his eyes. " _Di'kut's_ up to something, but won't let on."

"Right," Stonewall said. "Crest is on another holo-call–"

Traxis snorted. "Third one today."

"But he said it wouldn't take long and he'd meet us after," Stonewall finished.

Nodding, Fives speared a piece of the apparently spicy green nuna and shoved it in his mouth. "Where's the shiny?"

"He's _not_ a shiny," Traxis said. "And..." His brows knitted and he glanced around the room. "But...where the fek _is_ the kid?"

Ares cleared his throat. "At the bar, having what appears to be a rather, ah, engaging conversation with a young lady."

The five clones' gazes swiveled around to regard the far corner of the room, where, indeed, a younger clone was leaning against the wooden bar, sipping an ale and smiling at another patron, a busty Arunai female who, judging by her appreciative gaze, was _really_ enjoying his company.

Fives chuckled and turned back to his food. "Good for him."

Cody sipped his drink. "That's your sniper? I thought he _was_ a shiny."

"Apparently Milo has," Stonewall coughed into his hand, "become very popular with some of the women here."

"More so with some than others," another voice said. Crest, Shadow Squad's bald ordnance man, dropped to the seat beside Ares, grabbed a plate, and immediately began helping himself. "Sorry I'm late. Governor Bibble loves the chitchat. Kriff, I'm starving. Pass the ahrisa, will you, Commander?"

Cody leveled a stern glare on the bald clone. "I didn't hear a 'sir' in any of that, Trooper."

"Or a 'please,'" Rex couldn't help but add.

But Crest flashed them each a wide smile. "Sorry sirs. Trying to form some new habits now that I'm not in the GAR. Please pass the fardling vine beans before I start gnawing on the table."

"Did you see Weave?" Traxis asked as Crest stacked his plate.

The bald clone's forehead creased. "I stopped by his lab on the way here. He said he'd be along in a bit, then shut the door in my face. He's reminding me more and more of you, Trax, minus the swearing."

The others chuckled, but Rex couldn't help his question. "Is it true? You're going to be...petitioning for clone rights?"

Crest swallowed a rather large bite of his ahrisa and gave a surprisingly solemn nod. "That's the plan, sir. I ship out tomorrow afternoon. First stop is Corrie, then Alderaan, then Chandrila.

"The success of the whole thing remains to be seen," he added with a faint frown, "but I'd _like_ to do something to help all clones." He took another bite and shrugged, all joviality once more. "Besides, I've never been much good on the battlefield. May at least try and make myself useful."

"For the record," Stonewall said. "I couldn't have asked for a better ordnance man."

"Sure you _could_ have, but you gave me a chance." Crest waggled his brows. " _Di'kut."_

Cody shot Rex a rather scandalized look, but it was superficial. The commander was not one to make such casual remarks to his superiors, but he damn sure understood the concepts of camaraderie. If you couldn't joke around with your _vode_ , who could you joke around with?

Indeed, Stonewall grinned. "Back at you." All of the clones, and Ares, chuckled and dug into their food, though, after a moment, the former captain glanced at Crest once more. "You're right. I _could_ have requested your transfer and gotten another ordnance man. You've been a pain in my _shebs_ more times than I can remember, _vod,_ but I never once regretted your presence. Crest, you're a good soldier and a better man, and I'll be sorry to see you go."

Crest dropped his gaze and studied his plate for a moment, blinking rapidly in the manner of someone trying to withhold emotion. At last he glanced back at his former captain and, to Rex's amusement, gave a reg-perfect, razor sharp salute. "Thank you, Stonewall. I'll try not to let you down."

"You won't," Stonewall said, turning back to his food. He did not see Crest's cheeks flush, or the look of determination that crossed the bald clone's face.

Fives, however, glanced between them, then slated a strangely unreadable look at Rex. It was fleeting, for a beat later he cleared his throat and looked up. "Did you get her digits?"

Milo slipped into the seat next to Crest and reached for a plate. "Yeah. We're going to meet up later on."

The ARC grinned. "'Meet up,' huh?"

"Yep." The younger clone glanced around the table, where the others were slanting him similar knowing looks. His cheeks colored but he made a show of rolling his eyes. "Grow up, all of you."

Crest nudged his side. "And I remember when you could hardly _look_ at a pretty fem..."

"Any word about the application, Mi?" Stonewall broke in. "Milo's applied to the Antarian Rangers," he added at Rex and Cody's curious looks.

Rex tried to remember what – if anything – he knew of the Rangers. It wasn't much. He'd had a war to fight, after all.

"The Rangers, eh?" Cody said, stroking his chin in a manner reminiscent of his general. "Kenobi's told me about them. They're a rather elite bunch, aren't they?"

Milo shrugged. "I've heard that, too, sir. But they do good work, helping the Jedi. And they're a paramilitary organization, so it'd be a somewhat familiar environment for me. Not that I'm expecting them to accept a clone, especially not now, but I thought...well, I _definitely_ wouldn't get in if I didn't even try."

The kid was right about that, at least. But something else he said caught Rex's attention. "What do you mean, 'especially not now?'"

Milo's face colored but he nodded. "After everything that's happened...I mean, I wouldn't blame a group of Jedi-sympathizers for not wanting a clone to join them."

The table fell silent, all the more noticeable because the rest of the room, including the clones the next table over, was still chattering away, but Rex didn't give a fek about them, or anything else, really. Not right now. Not when his vision swam with memories of darkness and fire and smoke, with blaster bolts streaking through the Temple, and brothers facing brothers, poised to kill.

 _"_ _Execute Order Sixty-Six."_

 _"_ _With respect, sir, some orders are not meant to be followed."_

But he'd seen the fatality numbers. In the span of a few hours, just over half of the Jedi Order had been eliminated by the soldiers those same Jedi had fought beside for three years; men who should have known better. _"We're not droids,"_ he'd said to Dogma. " _You have to learn to make your own decisions."_

Easier said than done, apparently. And if he were honest, painfully honest, Rex was relieved his general was holed up in Senator Amidala's apartment. He did not think he could look at Anakin Skywalker the same way, not after that night. Not after seeing the fire in the other man's eyes.

The Temple, and by extension, the Jedi Order, still stood, but so much else had been destroyed. So many good men had died that night, not to mention the days and nights that had come before.

Rex's fist tightened around his glass before he lifted it. There were so many names to remember, but he would start with one. "To Fox."

Perhaps it was an abrupt change in topic, but clones were adaptable, and none of the others hesitated to follow. Glasses were raised; deep drinks were taken. "To Fox," they chorused.

"One hell of a leader," Cody added once he set his glass down.

"One hell of a man," Rex said.

"I'm really sorry I punched him," Milo said with a sigh.

Rex gave the kid his best version of a wry smile. "I doubt that sucker-punch was Fox's first – or last."

Fives sat up straighter, face twisting into a fierce grimace. "I didn't know the commander very well, but if I can do anything to put that karking, _shabuir_ of a Chancellor where he belongs, I'll do it."

"Your testimony will help," Rex replied with a nod.

"General Kenobi thinks it won't be easy to convince the entire Senate that Palpatine was a Sith," Cody added. "Apparently most folks don't even know what a 'Sith' is. But it's clear that he was involved with the Wars on a 'less-than-scrupulous level' – Kenobi's words, by the way, not mine – so an investigation is definitely called for."

Stonewall set down his own drink and looked between the command clones and Fives. "Do you think they'd want me to testify as well? I had dealings with Dooku, though I didn't know it was him at the time."

By now, Rex had heard this story, though it only made him angry. Reconditioned men were, to say the least, not wholly functional, so taking advantage of one of them was a crime of the highest order, second only to having a man reconditioned in the first place. All of it was an act of betrayal. "I don't imagine you'd be turned away," he said to the former captain. "But I'm not in charge of any of this."

Stonewall nodded, his mouth set into a grim line. "I'll talk to Obi-Wan."

 _Obi-Wan_? Rex did not miss Cody's incredulous look, though he himself wasn't capable of much more than a lift of his brows. No, Stonewall was no stranger to _informality_ when it came to Jedi. With good reason, Rex supposed, considering that the former captain was nearly one of them himself.

As if proving his point, Stonewall inclined his head, almost but not quite glancing over his shoulder. "Glad you could join us, _vod."_

"Trust me," Shadow Squad's medic, Weave said as he approached the table with four other clones Rex did not recognize. "I have a good reason for being late."

"Cobble!" one of the fellows said, grinning at another clone with milky eyes.

"Cob's right," the milky-eyed clone said, also beaming. "Tell them!"

Cody exchanged glances with Rex. "Tell us what?"

But Shadow Squad had gone still, as had the men of Misfit Squad at the table beside them. Stonewall's voice was hesitant. "Did it...?"

He didn't finish. It seemed to Rex that he could barely get the words out. Weave took a deep breath and placed one hand on the blind clone's shoulder, another on the shoulder of an older-looking clone who reminded Rex of the bad-batcher, Ninety-Nine.

"We're still running tests," the medic began. "There are still a few questions of side-effects, especially surrounding our metabolisms and reflexes, so I'm not one-hundred percent certain it's a _safe_ procedure–"

"Kriffing hell, _vod,_ " Traxis broke in, scowling. "Get to the effing point."

Weave hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Yes, it works. Zero, Trig and Rime's telomeres are a normal length. All tests point to their aging as having been normalized."

The room quieted again. It took Rex several moments to fully process what he'd heard, and even then, he did not believe it.

Nor, it seemed, did Cody, who could not form a complete sentence. "What...? You're saying that...?"

"How is that possible?" Rex finally managed.

A strange expression crossed the medic's face; wry and thoughtful all at once. "Ironically enough, the nanogene droids that we found in Sector Nine have proven to be rather useful."

"Never thought I'd be thankful for those little tinnies," the blind clone said, grinning hugely. "But here I am."

"Same here," the one-armed clone added, shaking his head. "I never thought I'd _want_ any more time to kick around. But..." He glanced around the restaurant, then at the men at the table Misfit Squad shared. "Well, I do."

To everyone's surprise, Milo jumped out of his seat and embraced the one-armed fellow. "We're glad you have more time, too, _vod._ "

Shadow Squad's medic got the same treatment, which spurred the others into action as well. For a few minutes the restaurant was alive with chatter as Weave and the others fielded questions and explained what they'd been doing.

"I apologize for not saying more, sooner," Weave was saying to his former captain. "I wasn't sure if it'd work, and I didn't want to get anyone's hopes up."

"Forgiven," Stonewall said, clasping Weave's forearms. "I can't..."

He broke off, blinking, but Crest jumped in. "You haven't told Kali, have you?"

Weave shook his head. "I'll let Stonewall have that honor."

But Stonewall shook his head. "It should be you, _vod._ You've done all the work. I'm just grateful I'll be around to watch my son grow up."

 _Son?_ Rex shot Fives an incredulous look, but it was nothing compared to the shock on Weave's face.

"A son?" the medic said, eyes wide.

Stonewall nodded. "Sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

Weave shook his head, but he was smiling. "It's alright, I don't mind. A son. Holy kriff..."

"Yeah," Stonewall said again. "I feel the same way."

* * *

A little later, Rex stepped out of the 'fresher. Arunai food was spicy as fek, and so required a great deal of water and ale to cool his tongue. More water than ale, at this point, as he was technically on duty, though General Kenobi had told him and Cody to enjoy themselves while they were here. Unspoken was the knowledge that, once they returned to the Core, the real work of putting the galaxy back together would begin.

Rex had fought for peace for what felt like his entire life, though he never honestly expected to see the fruits of his labor. But now, according to Weave, he'd have the opportunity to live a "normal" lifespan.

What would he make of it?

"Rex." It was Fives, approaching the 'fresher as well, a pensive look on his face.

"What's up, _vod_?"

Fives regarded him for a moment before sighing deeply. "I never...thanked you."

Well, this was unexpected. Rex lifted a brow but kept his expression neutral. "For...?"

The ARC swept his hand across the restaurant. "For sending me here. For," his voice deepened as his pitched dropped to a near-whisper, "believing me."

"ARC or not, you're one of my own. It's my duty – and my privilege – to keep you safe when I can. And," he added with a hand on Fives' shoulder, "you're my brother. Of course I believed you."

"I don't remember most of it," Fives continued, brows knit. "But I've been thinking how much you risked to get me off Triple Zero. You _and_ Commander Fox. And I can't thank him, but I can thank you."

"Fives, that's not–"

"It _is_ ," Fives interjected, squaring his shoulders, at once entirely, annoyingly, an ARC trooper. "You've saved my _shebs_ more than once, and I don't know that I've ever properly thanked you for any of it."

Rex shook his head. "You're welcome, _vod._ "

Fives exhaled, then inclined his head back at the table that held Cody, Ares and Shadow Squad, who were having a lively debate over the merits of different weapons. "Brothers, eh? The one constant. It's good to know some things won't change, except, I guess, we'll get more time together."

 _Good, indeed._ Rex felt a smile creep to his face. "Copy that, _vod._ "

* * *

Obi-Wan stood alone at the threshold of a small room. Three walls were painted a warm, bright yellow and covered in holo-pics of animals and plants. The third wall held the room's sole window; the shades were drawn now, but he thought it would look onto one of the green spaces in the RC. Boxes of diapers, a changing table, a rocking chair, and countless toys were stacked around the room. But something was missing.

"No crib?" he asked with a glance over his shoulder.

Kali emerged from the sitting area, a bundle of fur in her arms. "Not yet."

He could not help himself. "I'm not very knowledgeable about younglings, but isn't a crib rather essential?"

As she came to stand beside him, she flashed him a wide, not entirely teasing smile. "Patience, General Kenobi. We're working on it."

"Is that an...anooba?" Obi-Wan frowned at the bundle.

"It's Kot," she said by way of explanation. "Milo's new companion. I said I'd look after him while the guys were out."

Sure enough, the bundle moved, revealing a tiny set of tusks and a pair of dark eyes and tufted ears. His nostrils quivered as he sniffed the air, no doubt examining the new Human, though a moment later, when Kali pulled the blanket aside to rub his fuzz-covered stomach, Kot's eyes closed and his head fell back in a picture of bliss.

"You're a sweet one, aren't you?" Kali cooed to the creature. "Crest and Stone think you're trouble, but I think they're just jealous of how adorable you are." The pup exhaled deeply and Kali's smile widened.

Coupled with her swollen stomach, his friend looked...well, she looked like a _mother._ Of course she _was_ a mother, but despite the new roundness that pregnancy was bringing to her body, the reality had been distant. Before this moment, Kali's pregnancy had been a source of contention, and confusion.

Sweet Force, she looked happy. It was apparent in the glow that filled her Force-presence, her smile, her voice.

It had been the same emotion he'd witnessed when he'd last visited Anakin at Padmé's apartment.

At once he was struck with joy, and a longing so sharp it cut. But it was not painful; it whispered of possibilities. He looked around the room again. It, too, was bathed in a glow of happiness, only discernible through the Force.

For a Jedi, attachments were forbidden because love was a path to ruin.

But was it?

"You'll have the child here?" he heard himself ask.

Kali glanced up from rubbing the anooba's plump stomach. "That's the plan. Sita said we can stay on Aruna as long as we like, and I do love it here. It's just..." Her forehead creased and she glanced toward the window.

"What is it?"

"I'm not entirely sure," she admitted, looking back his way. "It's just...something feels...incomplete. I can't explain it."

Obi-Wan frowned. "Incomplete?"

"Unfinished," she added with a shake of her head. "Like...something else needs to happen before we can be truly settled." She sighed and looked back at the pup. "I've heard pregnant women experience something like this. It's called 'nesting.' Wanting to truly settle in and make a home somewhere. I suppose I was so caught up with finding Stonewall, then everything here, I hadn't had the energy to feel discontent before now."

"You're not happy?"

Kali shook her head. "No, I am. More than I thought possible. It's just..." She gave him a rueful smile. "There's a lot more to consider now than there was before. I just want to know that the little one will have the best possible life."

"Are you going to raise the boy as a Jedi?"

"We'll train him in the Force, of course. But I want him to choose his own path. If he wants to be a Jedi, he can be a Jedi. If he wants to be a nuna farmer, he can be a nuna farmer. I just want him to be happy."

 _Best forgo the nuna farmer comment._ "Have you spoken of all this to Altis? Perhaps you could raise the child on his praxeum ship, eventually."

"It's something to consider," she replied. "Once the RC is up and running, Stonewall and I can probably move on if we want."

Nodding, Obi-Wan leaned against the door frame and regarded the nursery with a more critical eye. A crib, certainly; the ones in the Temple creche were inlaid with Adegan crystals, which resonated with the Force and were often soothing to Force-sensitive younglings. He stroked his beard in thought, then glanced her way again.

"The Council also asked me to speak with you...regarding Altis."

"You're using your serious voice. Should I sit down?"

Obi-Wan schooled his features to calm. "Only if you would like to."

She bent to place the pup on the floor; Kot blinked up at her before padding to Obi-Wan to give his boots a thorough going-over. Kali leaned against the other side of the door frame and nodded to Obi-Wan. "Alright. Fire at will."

"It's nothing unpleasant, I assure you," he said, sighing. "The Council has plans to find Palpatine and bring him to justice, once the investigation is concluded. They asked me to speak with you to learn if the Altisians would like to have a role in any of this."

Kali considered. "From what you've told me, Anakin, plus a good portion of the Jedi Order and Antarian Rangers – not to mention who knows how many independent agents – will be on the hunt. Do you think the Altisians will be necessary?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. But I thought..." The anooba pup was licking his left boot; Obi-Wan tried to ignore it and continue. "I thought you'd like the option."

"Lately, the Altisians have mostly worked with refugees, or anyone adversely affected by the Wars," she said after a beat. "Force knows there will be no shortage of those in the coming months. I'm not sure Djinn would want to join a manhunt. But," she lifted a brow, "I'll ask him."

Obi-Wan laced his hands and gave her a bow. "That is all we ask. Thank you."

She studied him. "Why are you acting so formal? Are you alright?"

"I..." She gave him a knowing look, and he sighed. "I'm managing," he admitted. "Everything is in such turmoil... I cannot find a toehold."

"It could have been much worse," she said softly.

The faint sensation on his boot changed; the pup was now attempting to gnaw through the cured leather. Obi-Wan tried to shift out of the way. "Yes, it could have. But nearly half the Order is gone, either from the Wars or from Order Sixty-Six, and those of us who are left are...scrambling. The Separatist Crisis is technically resolved, but the Republic is in tatters, and there are still many systems that feel they'd be better off under another government."

"But Palpatine was manipulating the entire thing," she replied with a frown. "It wasn't just because the Republic was at fault."

"Even so, to many eyes, the Republic has been exposed as a broken system. Palpatine's treachery – that he nearly got away with it, under the collective noses of the Jedi Order, no less – is proof of that." He shook his head. "I fear it will be many years before the dust settles. And in the meantime, peace remains a dream."

"But hopefully a not too distant reality." Kali gave him a small smile, though she continued to study him. "I heard you went to find Anakin."

"You heard correctly." He left it there.

But. "Ben."

He gently nudged the pup away from his boots. "I stowed aboard Padmé's ship and she followed him to Mustafar."

"And?"

Fire. Heat. Fury. He would never forget the look in Anakin's eyes. The last time he'd seen his former apprentice was yesterday morning, in Padmé's apartment, as Anakin fed his daughter; smiling, murmuring sweet words to the child he held so tenderly.

How could it have been the same man Obi-Wan found on Mustafar? How could one person contain so many dichotomies?

"I went there to kill him," Obi-Wan said slowly. "It was the only way. He'd killed our own," he added to Kali's wide eyes. "He'd done terrible things, and though he'd not gone as far into the darkness as Yoda feared, he slew so many."

Her breath caught, but she was silent. For a moment the only sound was the anooba pup sniffing through the nursery.

At last Obi-Wan took a deep breath and continued. "He...hurt Padmé and was going to kill me if I did not defend myself."

"You fought him?"

"Briefly." Oddly, this memory was not entirely unpleasant, despite how full it was of fear and despair. "Until I realized..." He cast her a look that he hoped was wry, but knew she'd see through. "I did not want to fight my brother, but he would not listen to reason. He was too filled with anger and hatred to listen to anything else. I realized, if I wanted to save Anakin, I had to _show_ him an alternative. So I surrendered."

Kali did not reply for a long moment, so they stood in silence while Kot examined the changing table. Finally, she took his hand in both of hers and squeezed once. Her Force-presence brushed over his in silent comfort and support, and the thread that bound them brightened.

 _You did the right thing,_ she said through the Force.

 _I know,_ he replied. _But it is good to hear you say it._


	66. Chapter Sixty-Five

Lyrics: ["Memories That You Call," by ODESZA, from _In Return._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sRddl5qdzqE)

* * *

**Chapter Sixty-Five**

_Can you feel your heart_

_Yearning slow?_

Several hours later, Captain Rex, Commander Cody and Fives said their goodbyes. Crest, who had never quite been at ease around the officers, was still a little sorry to watch them go. It was men like them, who fought on the front lines, that he'd be fighting for in other arenas.

Kind of a freaky concept, if he thought about it too hard.

Once the officers and ARC had left the restaurant, the men of Misfit Squad began to trickle out as well, claiming a need for rest that was probably a euphemism for "sleep it off," given the amount of ale they had consumed as a group. Within a few minutes, it was just Shadow Squad and Ares left.

Weave checked his chrono. "I guess it _is_ getting a bit late," he said, glancing around the room. "Should we leave too?"

Tomorrow was _the_ day. At dinnertime, Crest was scheduled to board a shuttle that would take him to the Core; by midnight, Aruna time, he'd be in hyperspace, millions of miles from his _vode,_ for who-knew-how-long. He shifted in his seat. "Why? It's not like we have a curfew."

"Baldy's right," Traxis said, though he cast a wary glance at Ares. "Do you mind staying?"

Ares studied him, then glanced around at the rest of the squad. He shook his head, _lekku_ swaying gently, then rose. "I'm rather tired, myself," he said as he stood. "I'll head back as well."

Traxis seemed to debate. "Do you want me...?"

He trailed off, but Ares gave him a warm smile. "Very much, but I think you would like to remain here tonight."

"You're sure?" Traxis knitted his brows. "You can find the way back, right?"

"I can find my way from Saleucami to Corellia by memory," Ares replied, lifting a brow-ridge. "The half mile or so back to the RC will be no trouble, I assure you. But your concern is, ah, appreciated."

To Crest's infinite amusement, Trax's neck flushed but he tried to hide it with another sip of ale. "Great. Then I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

"I look forward to it." Ares inclined his head, then glanced at the rest of the clones. "This has been a most enjoyable evening. Thank you for inviting me along."

"Sure thing," Milo piped up, smiling. "You're a lot of fun to have around."

Ares chuckled, though his gaze lingered on Stonewall, who set down his ale and rose to shake Ares' hand. "You're welcome with us anytime, Ares."

The Twi'lek ducked his head in a nod, but Crest glanced at his scarred brother in time to see the look of pure affection on his face as he watched Ares. _Ah, he's got it bad,_ Crest thought, smiling to himself. _Good for him._ Ares was a decent fellow.

"Goodnight, Ares," Crest said, shaking the Twi'lek's hand in turn. "I hope you're able to get your ship situation worked out."

Ares smiled. "Thank you. I will try my best. Good luck on your own endeavors, and safe travels to you."

He hesitated, then looked at Weave, who regarded him before extending his own hand. "I'm glad you could make it out with us tonight," Weave said with a nod. "And overall... I'm glad you're here."

It was...sort of an unusual thing for the medic to say, but no one else seemed to notice. Ares, though, nodded once – both _lekku_ twitching – but said nothing else. He turned to leave and the others turned back to each other, though out of the corner of his eye, Crest caught Ares squeezing Trax's shoulder once, briefly, before stepping away from the table. And when the scarred clone faced the others, he was flushing even harder.

They sat quietly for a few minutes, sipping their ales and surveying the restaurant, which was almost empty by now. They had another hour or so before closing time, at least. After a bit, Milo glanced at Crest. "You're leaving tomorrow."

"Oh, you remembered," Crest replied with a smile. "I'm flattered."

Milo chuckled, but his face turned serious. "I'll miss you."

"As will I," Weave said, placing a hand on Crest's forearm. "You make everything more fun."

Trax snorted. "I'll give you that, Baldy. Life is a hell of a lot more entertaining with you around."

"I knew you've always appreciated my subtle humor, deep down," Crest managed, though he was blinking rather too fast for comfort, and there was this _shabla_ burning behind his eyes.

To his pleasure, his _vode_ chuckled, though Stonewall's next words were solemn. "Crest – well, all of you – I'd like to apologize."

"For what?" Milo said, frowning.

The former captain straightened. "For keeping secrets. For neglecting you when I should have been leading you. For," his shoulders slumped, "for forcing you, even inadvertently, to leave everything behind and come looking for me – or following me," he added to Milo, who'd opened his mouth to object.

The table was silent, but it was not entirely uneasy. Unexpected, sure, but not uneasy. At last, Crest shook his head. "Forgiven, _vod."_

Stonewall frowned at him. "Really?"

"Sure. I mean," Crest shrugged, "look, I can't say I'm one-hundred percent okay with all of the secrets – the Force-abilities, the marriage, the baby – but that's just because...well, it sucks lasers that you didn't think you _could_ tell us those things. That you thought we'd...I don't know, shun you or something."

Milo nodded. "We wouldn't have, _vod._ Even if we didn't really, completely understand, we wouldn't have stopped listening to you, or stopped liking you."

"Though it would have been nice," Weave interjected gently, "to have been able to be there for you. That's what brothers are for."

"Just to have had the kriffing _choice_ to have your six," Traxis said.

" _Both_ of your sixes," Crest added.

Stonewall looked at his empty bowl of tibanna split. "I never wanted to hurt any of you. I just wanted things to be...normal."

"'Normal,'" Crest said thoughtfully. "Says the Force-sensitive clone who's expecting a child with his Jedi-wife. _Vod,_ don't take this the wrong way, but your definition of 'normal' is fardling thermal."

Perhaps other clones would have taken offense, but his brothers chuckled. Stonewall met his eyes and gave him a soft smile. "You _may_ have a point."

Crest waggled his brows. "Can I get that in writing? Maybe engraved into a commemorative plaque?"

"Shut your _shabla_ mouth," Traxis said, rolling his eyes.

"Yikes, you're grouchy." Crest nudged his brother's side. "Maybe you need to blow off some steam. I know a fellow who seems like he'd be more than willing to help..."

Trax set down his drink and gave Crest a glare that was all bark and hopefully only a tiny bit of bite. "You want to go there? Because I can kriffing give as good as I get. More than, even."

"Please," Crest held up his hands, "spare us the gory details."

"How _is_ Sita, anyway?" Traxis continued. "Have you demonstrated the intricate workings of your deece to her?"

The mention of Sita was enough to pull Crest back to rude reality. He scraped his leftover beebleberry ice cream around his bowl and shook his head. "No. And I don't see that changing any time soon."

"I thought you liked each other," Milo said with a frown.

"Yeah," Traxis added. "You've been moon-eyed for that fem for over a year. I thought for sure you two had finally sealed the deal."

_If they only knew_. Crest winced.

Weave cleared his throat. "Guys, back off. Crest, you don't have to talk about her if you don't want to. Sometimes these things don't work out like we want them to, and that's okay."

Odd words from the medic, but maybe not, given the lack of copper-haired Jedi that had been around lately.

"Crest." It was Stonewall, speaking quietly but clearly. When Crest met his eyes, he leaned forward, his face earnest. "Do you care for her?"

"I..." Crest rubbed his face. It was too hot in here; he'd had too much ale with dinner. "Yeah. I do."

"A lot?"

He sighed. "Too much."

"Do you know if she feels the same?"

She'd tried to keep herself professional and distant, but he knew her. He knew the curves of her face and the pitch of her voice, maybe better than he knew his own. She was written on his heart, on every fiber of his body. "Yes, she does. But–"

"Do you want some advice?" Stonewall broke in.

Crest regarded his former captain. "I guess you have the most experience in the fem department. So okay. Shoot."

Stonewall nodded and laced his hands on the table before him. "We are given no promises and 'tomorrow' is not a certainty. All we have is _right now,_ where the choices we make will shape our lives. And it can be hard to make those choices, but someone has to take that first step forward. Someone has to cross the gap."

Fek, he made it sound so easy. But he and Kali had, apparently, been into each other from early on. Besides, this situation was _completely_ different, and Crest had already fekked it up beyond measure. Crest opened his mouth to try and verbalize some of this. "But–"

"There's always a thousand reasons not to do something," Milo interjected. "But Stonewall's right. You just have to go for it, _vod._ "

Crest gave a helpless laugh. "What the kriff do you know about above-the-sheets stuff, Mi?"

Milo's gaze was not without amusement. "A lot more than I used to. But this is about more than sex, Crest. This is love."

_Love?_ Crest's heart froze in his chest. _Was it...? Could it possibly...?_ "I don't know about that, Mi," he managed at last.

Traxis rolled his eyes. "Please. Of-fekking-course you're in love with her. Every time she walks in the room your effing face lights up."

"At the very least," Weave added. "You should be sure to wish her goodbye."

* * *

There was no mirror behind the speaking platform that had been erected in Rudral's main market square, but Sita still adjusted her headdress out of habit. Although she'd lived in this part of the world for the better part of her adult life, the city's gathered heat was still cloying, and beads of sweat rolled down the small of her back, making her silk tunic cling to her skin.

"Is it straight?" she asked Captain Biswal, standing with her at the base of the stairs that led to the back of the stage.

He regarded her a moment, then, to her surprise, smiled. "You look perfect, Speaker Hari."

A faint flush of color bloomed in his cheeks immediately after the words, but she chose to think of it as an effect of the heat. "Thank you."

"Thirty seconds," her aide called. "Good crowd out there, by the way."

Nodding, Sita smoothed her dress one more time and ascended the half-dozen stairs that led to the speaking platform; the backstage area was tented and concealed with thick curtains, so at least the crew had some shade, but once she stepped through the saffron curtain, she'd be in full sun. And in full view of what sounded like a crowd of a few thousand, not to mention the crews of HoloNet journalists that had flocked to the grand opening of the Rudral Rehabilitation Center.

By now, Sita was no stranger to speaking before a crowd, but her stomach always fluttered beforehand. It was always a little nerve-wracking; no matter how much she'd prepared, there was always the chance that something unexpected would happen.

Her name echoed through the market square and the crowd cheered. It was time. Sita took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and stepped through the curtain.

The sun dazzled once it fell upon the pure white hair of the Arunai in the crowd, and for a moment, Sita was blinded. Resisting the urge to squint, Sita swept her eyes across the crowd, and her breath caught when she marked how many people wore shirts or carried signs emblazoned with CETOC's logo – a clone helmet against a Republic roundel. There were clones there, too, men who'd found their way to the Rehabilitation Center; Kali and her husband were also in the crowd, somewhere, lost in a sea of faces.

All united in their purpose, in their belief that men who'd been grown in vats and sent to fight in their service deserved _more._

For one moment, it was almost too much. How could she speak, for the joy that crowded her throat?

_It would only be better,_ her traitor heart whispered, _if_ he _were here._

But he would soon be on his way to Coruscant, and she did not allow herself to wonder if he'd say goodbye. That door was firmly closed and would remain so, as long as he desired it. A hovering microphone dropped before her.

"Thank you all for coming," she said, smiling. "This day marks a turning point in Aruna's history, and it brings joy to my heart to share it with you. I–"

Captain Biswal's voice reached her through the curtain. "No, she's speaking _now,_ you insolent–"

"I know," came a clone reply, one that made her heart seize. "But it'll just take a second."

A few audience members toward the front tried to peer behind the stage, but most seemed unaware of the disruption behind-the-scenes. Sita blinked, but otherwise continued speaking. "I lament to say that my own history with the clone army has been less than–"

"I _won't_ allow you to disturb her," Biswal spat, a little louder. "Get back here at once, before you are forcibly removed."

"Look, no offense, Captain," Crest replied archly. "But kindly eff off."

Murmurs of confusion and curiosity rippled through the crowd. More necks craned to see what was the disturbance; she should have been annoyed. But.

Biting back a chuckle, Sita tried to collect herself. "My own history with the clone army has been less than flattering, but I have since recognized the error of my ways–"

"Sita."

Crest stepped through the curtain behind her, armor shining in the sun, helmet tucked under his arm, honey-brown eyes on her. She was not prepared for the shock of seeing him in this gleaming glory. "Crest?"

He glanced at the crowd once, but it was a cursory sort of look, the kind one might give an unfamiliar guest at a party. Biswal parted the curtain but did not step onto the stage, and Crest remained. "I know you're in the middle of something, and I'm sorry for interrupting," he stepped closer, eyes still fixed on her face, "but I couldn't wait any longer. I've waited so long, Sita. At least, it feels like it. And if I don't say this now, kriff knows when I'll have the opportunity – or the guts."

This close, his voice boomed over the market square, reaching every corner, every ear. Silence descended upon the world and Sita could not take a full breath. The crowd, the sun, Biswal, her own nerves...they all fell away, and the world shrank to Sita and Crest. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

By contrast, Crest could not seem to stop now that he'd started. "You're an inspiration. You're _my_ inspiration. Fek, Sita, you're the strongest woman I know. You make me want to be stronger, better, all that stuff. And I was such a _di'kut,_ before, when I said we shouldn't be together. Kriff, do you know how I've regretted that night every fardling day? I was such a blind, stupid, chuff-sucking _shabuir_ for thinking I could ever be near you again and stop thinking about how much I want to kiss you."

Her heart leaped into her throat; her body was cloud-light, ready to float away. She managed, barely, to say his name. "Crest."

"I know," he said, shaking his head. "This is the worst possible time, in more ways than one. I apologize to all of you, too," he added to the audience, most of whom were gaping at him. "And Sita," suddenly he was a step closer, close enough for her to feel the heat of him even beneath the sun, "I know I'm about to leave, for who-knows-how-long, but I can't...I can't leave this world again without telling you..."

He trailed off. Her vision pooled to his wide eyes. "Tell me what?" she said at last, her own voice soft, even through the hovering microphone.

Crest straightened. Suddenly he was every inch a soldier, save the look in his eyes as he said, softly, "Sita, I love you."

A collective gasp rose from the audience, immediately followed by a mixture of whispers, murmurs and even a few shouts of encouragement. If Crest heard any of it, he did not let it be known, and continued to study her, though hints of unease flickered across his face.

She tried, she _tried_ to form a response, but his words echoed, resonating through her whole self. _I love you._

Color flushed over his face, creeping all the way to his head, now shining with sweat, and he was no solder, just a man, and an uncertain one at that. "I mean..." He trailed off, grimaced, but pushed on. "Do you feel the same way, or did I just completely embarrass the kriff out of both of us in front of a huge karking audience–"

There was a time for thought, for planning and careful consideration, but that time was not now. Sita reached for him, wrapping her fingers in the black fabric of his bodysuit that peeked out at his neck, and pulled him close. She pressed her body to the hard shell of his armor and opened herself to him; he met her, and more, embracing her with both arms, surrounding her, filling her, and returned the kiss in kind. Strong hands curled in the hair at the nape of her neck, and she was only peripherally aware of the faint tinkle of her headdress as it toppled to the stage.

It was a small sound, after all, when laid against a cheering crowd.

* * *

_Later..._

Her white hair was silk running through his fingers. Each inhale brought him the scent of jasmine, and when she turned smiling blue eyes to his, he was never so glad to have realized he was a _di'kut._

"I can't believe I almost left here without seeing you naked," he told her.

Sita's eyes widened before she burst into laughter and buried her face into his bare chest, her shoulders shaking with mirth. Crest chuckled as well, and hugged her waist closer. Yes, her skin was as soft as he'd always imagined. And she had the most adorable freckles on her–

"I cannot believe it, either," she said, resting her chin on her arms, folded across his chest.

"You can't believe I almost left without seeing you naked, or vice versa?"

She lifted one pale brow. "Both." Another smile crossed her face before she stretched her neck up to brush a kiss against his lips. "And I must say, you were worth the wait."

His heart swelled. Well, it wasn't the _only_ part of him that did so, but he was still recovering from earlier. "Glad to hear that. I tried."

Sita smiled at him. "Trust me, Crest. You _did._ Quite well, too. It has been a long time since I've felt so..."

When she did not finish the sentence, he smoothed his thumb over her lips. Fek, she was beautiful. The fading light that poured through her bedroom window added a luminous, golden glow to her russet skin. Many times had he dreamed something similar, but those were poor, wan fantasies beside this reality.

"Felt so...?" he asked.

She leaned her head into his chest again. "Loved. Safe." She exhaled. "Happy."

Words didn't come easily right now, for there was simply too much to say. However, Crest managed to wrap both arms around her small frame and press her close. "I do love you, Sita."

"I love you as well, Crest," she replied immediately. "I don't know when it happened. Or how. Only that it did. I love you."

Kriff, it never got old, hearing those words. They almost made him forget... Crest swallowed tightly and kissed her forehead. "I wish I didn't have to go in a few hours. Maybe I am a _di'kut_ , for thinking _now_ was the right time to confess all my _shabla_ feelings."

"If not now, then when?" She glanced up, into his eyes. "I do not know when we will see each other again, but it will be well, because now I know. Now we both know. That will be enough, for now."

"Will it?"

"It will have to be." There was no agitation in her expression, only calm. And, he could not help but note smugly, a sated, rosy glow. He brushed back a strand of moonstone-pale hair; thankfully, her braids had not been as intricate today, so he'd been able to make short work of them.

"You have a task," she continued, all calm confidence. "As do I. We will find a way to meet in the middle, when we can. It is more of a chance than many are given."

Crest studied the curves and planes of her face, neck and shoulders, at once drinking them in, saving them for later, but also wishing he could somehow soak up her belief in herself – and him – and add its shape to his own reality.

But there was nothing for it. Wishing would do him no good. Action, that was what he needed. And he'd already taken the steps he needed to; now he just had to man up and follow through.

And she was right. They had a chance to make something good.

"That's true," he said at last, stroking her cheek.

Eyes closed, she leaned into his touch. "It will be well, Crest."

"No," he said. Her eyes opened and met his, and he smiled. "It already is."


	67. Chapter Sixty-Six

Note: This chapter is rated M, as it gets a bit steamy near the end.

Lyrics: ["A Sky Full Of Stars," by Coldplay, from _Ghost Stories._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VPRjCeoBqrI)

* * *

**Chapter Sixty-Six**

_I don't care,_

_Go on and tear me apart._

_I don't care if you do._

_'Cause in a sky full of stars,_

_I think I saw you._

Ares ran a gloved hand across the control panel. He found it warm and humming, as all ships were in their eagerness to take to the stars. Even in the cockpit, the engines' pulse was a living, breathing thing, a promise of a destination as much as a journey. This ship, called _Rubikhan,_ had seen better days; life-support was functional, but still kept the interior far too cold for Ares' tastes. But otherwise, judging by the repairs and upgrades from stem to stern, she had been well loved in her day.

A fine vessel, by any estimation. Anyone would be lucky to own a ship like this, so it would be good to return the _Rubikhan_ to her rightful owner. Not once did Ares entertain the notion of wishful thinking for this ship, for she was no _Stark Raven_.

A heavy tread of boots preceded the cockpit door opening. When it did, Traxis' broad, armored form filled the small space and Ares' heartbeat kicked up a few paces.

"Bane's all set," Traxis said without preamble as he removed his helmet. "The brig on this thing is pretty tight; he won't be going anywhere."

Well, that was a relief. For being a bounty hunter, Ares found the work itself rather distasteful at times. Elek had always counseled him to think of it, not as stripping away someone's freedom, but ensuring that those who took advantage of others were brought to justice. And so it was, provided one chose their contracts carefully.

In any case, it was good to have help in this particular aspect of the job. "Thank you for seeing to him."

"It wasn't exactly difficult."

Ares eased the sliding controls that increased the flow of fuel to the engine in preparation for takeoff and studied the fuel sensors again. Everything was normal; this ship wasn't large, but it was efficient, and he thought the trip to the Core would pass quickly. "I've sent notice to my contacts in the Guild, who've arranged for us to deliver Bane to the RJC Detention Center."

"The Guild?"

"Of bounty hunters," Ares explained. "They handle the administrative aspects of this work: assigning bids, acquiring contracts and," he lifted a brow ridge, "arranging payment."

Nodding, Traxis shot a glance over his shoulder, in the direction of the brig. "What's the price on that _shabuir's_ head?"

This, Ares could still not quite believe. After Kali's request that he remove Bane from this world, he'd taken a moment to look up the sum offered by the Republic, but... "One and a half."

The scarred clone wrinkled his nose. "One and a half...credits?"

" _Million_ credits."

Trax goggled at him. "Are you fekking serious?"

"Of course," Ares continued, "that is not the final sum we will receive. The Guild, naturally, takes a portion as commission; it is quite a large portion, which is why many hunters choose to operate outside the Guild. In addition to that, there will be taxes and fees that will come out of the total, all courtesy of the Republic. Such is the nature of government work. I expect to receive about fifty percent of the actual bounty."

"Kriffing hell," Traxis said, running a hand through his hair. "That's still a fek-load of cash. How much to get your ship back?"

Anxiety knotted in Ares' stomach. He was so close, but still half a galaxy away, and so much could still go wrong. The _Raven_ would not be his again until the flimsiwork was signed and notarized, and he was in the pilot's seat. "Not very much, as it happens. Perhaps twenty or thirty thousand."

Traxis scowled. "Don't you know exactly how much?"

Ares shook his head. "It was just over eighteen thousand, but with Bane now in Republic custody, the situation is more complicated. I believe what possessions of Bane's that could be located have already been turned over to an impound lot and set for auction. Even though I was only in the process of paying off the _Raven,_ I am still the registered owner, and so will be given the first opportunity to pay the remaining balance off – plus additional fees, of course – before she's placed for bid."

The scarred clone muttered something about "civvies" and "complicated" under his breath. "You said 'we.'"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You said, 'that is not the final sum _we_ will receive.'" Traxis regarded him with knitted brows. "What do you mean 'we?'"

"Ah." Ares turned his attention back to the _Rubikhan_ 's controls, though his mind was elsewhere. "Well, _we_ will both be in attendance, will we not?"

"But _I'm_ just a clone," Traxis continued. " _We_ may both be there, but I doubt _I'll_ be getting any cash."

"Would you like some?" Ares asked. "All I care about is having enough to pay off the _Raven,_ and make any additional repairs. Perhaps send a bit to my sister and her family, and save the rest."

Traxis scoffed. "Like I'd have a fardling clue what to do with it."

_"_ _You_ captured Bane," Ares pointed out. "You and your brothers. Kali may have placed him in my care, but by all rights, the money should be yours–"

"I _don't_ want your kriffing money," Traxis interjected.

But his gaze across the console was that of a searching man. One of his hands lifted, hovered near the back of Ares' chair before he returned it to his helmet. He stood close enough for Ares to smell tibanna from his weapons and whatever he used to clean his gear, and glanced at the cockpit's exit. "So Bane's all cozy in his cell and his energy cuffs. Do you need anything else?"

"Yes. You. Specifically, at this moment, for that delightful, ah, _shebs_ of yours to make contact with the co-pilot's seat." Ares smiled at the Human male. To his amusement – and pleasure – Traxis' cheeks flushed, though he did not move. Ares ignored the faint twitch of agitation in his left _lek_ and studied his companion. "Is something troubling you?"

"I've never..." Traxis scowled and his grip on his helmet tightened. "It's just weird, being on my own, without the others, without a mission or something. Though I guess technically we _are_ on a mission. And not that we're exactly _alone,_ right now..." He flushed harder and looked away. "It's just weird."

Fuel sensors set, Ares turned his attention to the comm; the Port Authority controller would send written and audio clearance to depart in a few moments, once the request was received. A few taps of his fingers against the panel was all it would take.

But he waited.

"All my grand talk of credits aside, if you don't want to accompany me," Ares set his hand in his lap and looked up at the scarred soldier, "you do not have to."

Traxis narrowed his eyes. "And leave you alone with that fekking _shabuir_? Not on your life."

Nothing in Trax's words or mannerisms indicated a lack of trust on his part. There was no subtlety to him, no hidden agenda. Traxis was pure and fierce, and Ares' heart lifted at the stern words and the intensity of their bearer. Had there ever been another so steadfast in his determination to protect something even Ares did not value very much? _This man is dangerous,_ he thought, regarding the clone. _This man could break your heart._

But there were worse things, as he'd so recently learned. Living apart from this man, for one.

Even so, it was within his nature to tread carefully, so he shrugged and tried to keep his words light. "Despite the nature of our 'mission,' as you call it, you are not tied to me, Traxis."

"Wouldn't mind if I was," Traxis replied with an arch of his brow, and it was Ares' turn to flush. A slow, wicked smile crept to the clone's face as he added, "It'd be about time, don't you think?"

"We've hardly been apart since I arrived on Aruna," Ares pointed out.

"Yeah. But we _still_ haven't f–"

The engines' hum increased in that moment, drowning out the remainder of Traxis' words, though Ares could guess well-enough. "Patience," he said to the clone as he entered the departure request. "We've been busy here, and there will be time for _that_ later."

"Thanks to Weave, I may have more time very soon," Traxis leaned closer, his cheek barely scraping against Ares' left _lek,_ "but patience will never come easily for me. Not how _some_ things come easily."

He still smelled of soap and aftershave from his morning shower. Warm breath, exhaled on the sensitive skin of _tchun,_ made Ares' throat tighten while an answering heat swam through his veins.

"Then I will have to teach you the pleasure of patience," Ares managed after a beat. "If you think you can, ah, handle it."

A low, deep laugh sent another thrill across _tchun._ "I can handle whatever you've got." With that, Traxis slid into the co-pilot's seat and faced forward. "I've said my goodbyes," he added with a nod. "Let's move out. Or lift off. Or whatever you kriffing do in a ship."

Ares did not suppress his grin. "You can do many things in a ship, my friend."

" _Di'kut._ You know what I meant." Traxis rolled his eyes, but he was smiling, too.

* * *

_Later, on Coruscant..._

Cad Bane was a skinny little _shabuir,_ but he was effing _strong._ The Duros didn't fight, exactly, but it took Traxis and three shock troopers just to get the fekker out of the ship's brig. While Ares dealt with the flimsiwork aspect of the exchange, Traxis focused on his objective, because there was no fardling way he was going to let Bane pull anything funny this close to the end of the journey.

"Come on, kark," Traxis growled as Bane twisted in the cuffs. "Move your _shebs_."

In response, Bane spat out what was probably a fek-load of unflattering names, though Traxis didn't know Huttese. However, this did not deter the shock troopers, or Traxis, as they led him out of the vessel and onto the platform before the RJC Detention Center. Another two squads of clones stood at attention, along with a few non-clones that Traxis thought were reps from the RJC.

The moment Bane's boots touched permacrete, one of the clones, a sergeant, judging from the marks on his kit, nodded to Traxis. "We've got him from here."

_Hopefully better than last time._ But Traxis kept the thought to himself and released his grip on Bane's arm and stood back as the clones roughly escorted the _chakaar_ toward his new home. With any luck, it'd be a long time until Bane saw freedom. Left to his own devices, Traxis glanced toward Ares, who was in conversation with a Rodian clad in the RJC's uniform.

A tap on Trax's shoulder made him whirl around, instinctively preparing for a fight, only to find the sergeant regarding him. "Yeah?"

The shock trooper's crimson-splashed helmet tilted. "There's no insignia on your gear, but you're no shiny. Who's your CO?"

"Why do you need to know?" Traxis shot back before he could stop himself.

"A smart- _shebs,_ huh?" The shock trooper's voice held amusement and only a touch of annoyance. "I guess it's true."

_For kriff's sake._ There was no effing way he'd _not_ regret asking. "Fine. I'll bite. What's true?"

"That clones who abandon their posts also give up their honor, or any sense of brotherhood."

The pure smugness in the other clone's tone was annoying, sure, but it was the _words_ that stunned Traxis into – brief – silence. He hadn't _abandoned_ anything! Well, anything worth having. "What the fek are you yammering about?"

The shock trooper gave him a once-over, T-visor sweeping up and down over Traxis' body, no doubt taking in his battered, scuffed kit and additional, non-regulation weaponry, before lifting his chin. "You're a deserter."

_Deserter?_ He had a copy of the flimsies absolving him of any such claim, not that he had to prove anything to this bishwag. Traxis shook his head. "You must be mistaking me for someone else."

Undeterred, or maybe just really in love with the sound of his own voice, the Corrie clone continued. "The Republic is in tatters, good men are dying every day, and you're traipsing around the galaxy, playing at being a bounty hunter with that tailhead," he jerked his chin in Ares' general direction, "and for what? Did he promise you money? Or something more?"

Anger coiled in Traxis' gut, low and dark and dangerous. Heat flushed through each vein and his body tensed, but he did not reply. If he did, surely he'd go fekking supernova.

"You're like that bald _di'kut_ who's been all over the HoloNet," the shock trooper went on. "The one groveling at the mongrels' feet to forgive _us_ for doing our effing _duty._ Well, let me tell you something: _No_ clone worth his weight in tibanna abandons his duty to planet-hop and lick _their,"_ he jabbed his finger toward Ares and the other non-clones, "hands in hopes of a payout. It's disgusting. You're both disgusting, but I think he's worse, because he's obviously on the mongrels' payroll, their little dancing pet, the _crinking_ bishwag."

Traxis could see the next moments so easily. A clone's helmet was secure, save for the small, soft patch of exposed skin beneath his jaw. A hit there would leave a nice bruise. He would strike fast and hard, enough to send Sergeant Bishwag _shebs_ -backwards to the permacrete. It would be satisfying to knock this smug _shabuir_ to the ground after saying such _osik_ about Crest.

But a deep breath afforded Traxis a moment to _think,_ and in doing so, his eyes fell upon the other shock troopers who'd paused a few meters away, visors fixed on him and Sergeant Bishwag. In a few seconds, he'd be outnumbered, and he was far too close to a prison for comfort.

It grated to forgo his preferred action, but Traxis was not stupid enough to assault another clone in full view of the _di'kut's_ squad. Not today, at any rate. So he allowed a smirk to cut across his face and insured his words landed like blows. "Let me give you a friendly piece of advice: Don't open your fekking mouth unless you have something intelligent to say. Which I guess means you should be silent as the dead on Teth for the rest of your _shabla_ life."

"I should report you, have you sent to Kamino," the shock trooper snarled, jabbing a finger in Traxis' direction. "What's your designation?"

"CT-Suck-My-Deece," Traxis replied with a lazy salute. _Baldy would be proud of that one._

With that, he turned his back on the other clone and made his way to Ares, who was alone now, watching the unfolding clone-on-clone drama.

"Is everything well?" Ares asked as Traxis approached. In _his_ voice was nothing but kindness and concern, and within Traxis' gut came the feeling that a drove of flutterwings had just been released.

_No,_ he chided himself. _Not flutterwings. Thrantas, or something more effing manly._ "Everything's fine," he said with a nod, falling into parade-rest before the Twi'lek. "Sergeant Bishwag and I were exchanging frank opinions."

Ares' head tilted as he peered over Traxis' shoulder. "I am no expert on these matters, but your new friend does not seem pleased."

Sure enough, when Traxis turned, he saw the sergeant – and a couple of his buddies – stalking their way. _Kriffing morons. Don't they have anything better to effing do?_ Traxis glanced back at Ares. "Don't worry about him. Corrie clones are drama queens."

"I see." Ares' eyes crinkled with amusement. "But still...should we be leaving in a hurry?"

"Did you get everything you needed?" Traxis asked. When Ares held up a credit chip, he nodded. "Right. Yeah, let's haul jets before he pulls his head out of his _shebs_ and remembers which end of his blaster does the shooting."

* * *

Within moments, they'd lifted off and were barreling through Corrie's atmo. Clouds skimmed across the viewport until they broke free, and Ares angled the vessel for the nearest jump station. To Traxis, it seemed that the Twi'lek had more than just two arms; he maneuvered his way across the ship's controls with ease. Not only that, he comm'd the jump station controller and fiddled with the nav, all while Traxis sat on his _shebs_ and watched.

Not that he could have done much more. He knew the most rudimentary aspects of flying a GAR transport, but the _Rubikhan_ was far more complicated. Besides, he had a pretty nice view. When Ares concentrated, his forehead creased and he ran his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip; his slender, agile fingers slid across the various buttons, screens and dials before him with precision. These things caused all sorts of interesting notions to enter Traxis' brain.

But he kept silent and still in his efforts to honor Ares' call for _patience._ He'd pushed too hard, before, and nearly lost what he was starting to think was something pretty effing wonderful. So he'd try to show some _shabla_ restraint. Though in the meantime, it'd be kriffing _hard._

Only after they'd made the jump to hyperspace did Traxis break the silence. "How long until we reach Brentaal?"

"Three and a quarter hours."

"And we can get a shuttle back to Corrie from there? The _Stark Raven_ is still on Coruscant, right?"

Ares' _lekku_ twitched at the mention of his ship, but he nodded. "Yes, on both counts. Though I will warn you that public shuttles are rarely pleasant."

"I've slept in mud, eaten rations in the rain, and slogged for days through deserts and ice-worlds, alike." Traxis shrugged. "I doubt a public shuttle can be worse than all of that."

Ares cast him a wry smile that made the flutterwings – _no, the effing thrantas_ – take flight in his guts again. "You may be surprised."

It was fardling stupid, but the sudden privacy struck Traxis like a shot to the chest. They were alone now. No one else for lightyears around. When was the last time he'd been so close to someone he...? When was the last time he'd had the luxury of privacy? Had he ever, really? There'd been a few moments here and there, sure, but none of them came close to how this journey felt.

However, _patience._

It also occurred to Traxis that Ares had shown a huge amount of trust in placing himself with a man who wore full body armor and had been called, only in half-jest, a walking armory. And, realistically, it would be easy to overpower Ares and take the credit chip for himself.

But cash was a flimsy notion when compared to the warm, coral-skinned male beside him, who watched the ribboning stars with a mixture of eagerness and delight.

So he eased himself back in his chair, reclining as best he could in his gear. "Has the _Raven_ been set for auction?"

"No." Ares exhaled and skimmed a hand down his left _lek._ "The next auction is in a few days. We _should_ be back to Coruscant well before that, but..."

He trailed off, like he could hardly get the words out, and turned his attention back to the controls. More than that, his body seemed to shrink in on itself; his back hunched and his trembling _lekku_ pressed close to his back.

_Ah, to hell with patience._

Before Traxis knew what he was doing, he'd placed a gloved hand on Ares' forearm. "Don't worry about it," Traxis said quietly as Ares tensed. "We'll make it back in plenty of time."

Ares took a deep breath and shook his head. "I would very much like to believe what's coming out of that mouth of yours."

A host of innuendos and double-entendres came to Traxis' mouth, but he held them back. Now was not the fekking time. "Ares," he spoke clearly and with deliberation, as an officer would when giving controversial orders, "you are getting your _shabla_ ship back. Even if we have to steal the effing thing in the dead of night. And if we get caught and thrown in prison, the kriffing _nanosecond_ I get out, I'm going for that ship again. And again, and again, until she's yours. Do you understand?"

Warm brown eyes searched Traxis', whose breath hitched at what _he_ found within that gaze. When a hand covered his own, the suddenness of the feeling startled him; blinking, he glanced down to where Ares' palm now rested over his.

"No," Ares said softly. "But I am starting to."

* * *

_Later..._

In some ways, the city of Vuutin was similar to the Ryloth of Ares' memories. Though his sister's family lived near one of the capitals, he and Clio had grown up in a smaller town located, to put it politely, upon the backside of nowhere.

Like that town, Vuutin had little to its name other than a lack of spaceport. So that he and Traxis would not be stranded on this world once they delivered the ship, Ares had rented a speeder, which Trax drove to Vuutin while Ares piloted the _Rubikhan_. According to the ship's logs, Diella Malak lived in the center of the city. However, only local transports were allowed within the city's borders, so Ares and Traxis were instructed to leave their vehicles on a grassy lot about a quarter-klick from the main gates.

Vuutin was a walled city, which was odd. Not the concept so much as the execution. As Ares and Traxis passed through the main gate – under the not-so-watchful eyes of the guards – he craned his neck up to see the stone walls on all sides, bathed in afternoon light. "Unusual that they don't have an energy shield."

Traxis cast a quick glance as well, though for the most part his T-visor swiveled around the surrounding area, no doubt checking for potential threats. What would normally be a busy hour in most cities was quiet in Vuutin. Only few Humans made their way through the quaint, old-fashioned cobblestone streets, occasionally popping in and out of shops; judging by the signs, they were in a market district of some kind.

Those Humans that were out and about cast wary glances at the armored man, and Ares caught more than a few disdainful looks at his _lekku._

"It's not secure in the least." Traxis indicated the wall and the direction they'd come. "Especially if the _di'kutle_ guarding the kriffing gate don't give a flying fek who strolls into their city. They didn't even ask for identification."

Ares could not suppress a smile at this. "Ah, yes, but that makes it easier for us to go where we please."

"Well, they're still slackers," Traxis muttered as they walked.

"Never underestimate the value of someone who doesn't do their job, my friend," Ares said with a chuckle. "Especially if it makes _our_ job easier."

The Kiffar woman operated, of all things, a bakery. Wide windows allowed in the warm, afternoon light and the scent of baking bread hung in the air. A little chime attached to the old-style rattlebang door announced Ares and Trax's presences; when they stepped inside, the fat, purple tooka cat that lay curled upon the counter greeted them by twitching one tufted ear.

Traxis' helmet tilted as he took in the small space. "What the _shab_ is this place?"

Ares bit back a smile. "Have you never seen a bakery?"

"Only in holovids."

"Can I help you...gentlemen?" A Kiffar female emerged from a doorway behind the counter, wiping her hands on her flour-streaked apron.

They'd discussed how this was to go. Accordingly, Ares kept silent while Traxis straightened, at once a pure soldier, and removed a small holodisk from his belt. "Diella Malak?"

Her eyes narrowed and flickered from the disk to Trax's helmet. "Who's asking?'

"I was instructed to pass this along to you, ma'am." Traxis offered her the disk, which she accepted with a frown. "My associate and I have also brought the vessel, _Rubikhan,_ which has been left in the city's, er...landing area."

Diella Malak stared at him. Ares was terrible at guessing ages, but the faint lines around the edges of her eyes made him think she was in her early forties. She had dark skin, almost the color of caf, and a faint yellow whorl on her cheek. "That's Reis' ship. How the kriff did you lot get it?"

"All the relevant intel is on that disk," Traxis said. "We're just the messengers."

"Very well." She fumbled below the counter, withdrew a small holoplayer, and began to insert the disk with trembling fingers. "Let's see how this precious disk of yours explains what you're doing with my brother's ship."

While her attention was on the holoplayer, Traxis' helmet tilted toward Ares, who tried to give him an encouraging look. But in his heart of hearts, he knew this would not be easy.

At last the player started. Stonewall's image appeared; he wore his armor but had his helmet tucked in his arm. "Miss Malak," the image said, offering a low bow. "I regret to inform you that your brother, Reis Malak, is dead...by my hand. I'm sorry," he added quickly. "You have no idea how much I regret my actions. At the time, I thought I was following orders of a superior officer, though I realize that is not much of a comfort."

There was a pause while Stonewall's image seemed to consider something. "I regret being unable to bring you this news – and your brother's ship – myself. I know the return of that vessel will do little to ease your grief, but I thought it was the very least I could do. Again, I am truly, deeply sorry for what I did to your brother and his companion – I could not find her name."

Stonewall bowed again. "I hope you get some good out of the ship. Thank you. May the Force be with you."

The image died.

Silence swelled through the bakery, pushing away all of the other, pleasant sensations. Diella Malak stared at the holoplayer for a few long, long moments, until she slowly turned her gaze to Traxis and Ares. Her eyes were hard. "His voice is the same as yours."

Traxis removed his helmet in one swift motion, turning his head so that the light caught upon his scars. "Yes, ma'am," he said with a nod. "We're both clones."

"Clones." She said the word as if it tasted foul. "He said he was following orders. Who the kriff ordered a clone soldier to kill my idiot brother? Did he owe someone money?"

Traxis frowned. "Your brother? I don't–"

"Never mind," she broke in, squeezing her eyes shut. "I don't care. It doesn't matter now." With that, she turned for the door that led to the back of the shop.

Curious. Ares and Traxis exchanged a look, but Traxis cleared his throat. "Ma'am, we have the lock-codes for the ship–"

She froze in the doorway. "I don't care about the chuff-sucking codes. Or the damned ship. Fly it into the sun, and yourselves – and all of you cowards with it."

"It's yours now," Traxis said, shaking his head. "At least write down the kriffing codes."

The Kiffar woman leveled him with a glare before stepping around the counter. She was petite; Traxis could have probably snapped her in two with barely a thought, but her anger filled the small space. "Let me say this again, in small words, so maybe you'll understand. I. Don't. Want. The ship."

"But–"

"No," she broke in. "You kriffing heard me, _clone._ I haven't given a Hutt's arse about my deadbeat brother in a decade, and I'm not going to start now just for your sake. Or your _crinking_ coward of a clone buddy – or whatever you lot call each other – who can't be bothered to show up in person like a karking _man._ "

Until now, Traxis had showed remarkable restraint, but this, it seemed, was the slight that broke the ronto's back. Trax's face twisted into a scowl. "He didn't kill your brother out of malice. He was following orders. That's what soldiers do. It's _osik,_ but it's life. But he's trying to make it right–"

"Fek that other clone, and fek you. And get the kriff out of my shop before I call the authorities and have you _and_ your tailhead friend here carted off."

Only by virtue of standing so close to Traxis did Ares note the tightening of the other male's jaw and fists. It was time he intervened. "You have every right to be angry, Madam Malak," he said as he stepped between the clone and the Kiffar baker, hands raised. "I also have sibling, and though we are not particularly close, the news of her death would be shocking – and upsetting."

She crossed her arms over her chest, eying him. "We didn't talk any more, but he was my kid brother, and then this..." The words faded as she sniffed and swiped a hand beneath her eyes.

Ares nodded and withdrew a datastick from his jacket pocket. "Please accept our sincere condolences for your loss. This contains the information for the _Rubikhan;_ you may not want it now, but that could change one day."

He extended the stick. She studied him a moment, then snatched it from his palm and shoved it in her apron pocket. But she was not quick enough to hide how her fingers trembled, worse than before. "Fine. Go, now. Both of you."

Traxis sucked in a breath like he was about to reply, but Ares silenced him with a gentle hand upon his arm. "As you wish, madam." He gave a low bow, the kind that used to serve him well when he wore a slave collar. "Thank you for your time."

With that, he turned for the door, silently urging Traxis to follow without further stoking the woman's ire. Thank the stars, the clone followed him to the street in silence, though the minute the bakery door closed, Traxis let out a curse.

"I know that was difficult," Ares said with a nod.

"I should've realized..." Traxis sighed and rubbed his forehead. "She was so effing pissed. And I can't blame her."

It didn't feel like it, but they'd lingered here long enough for afternoon to fade into the beginnings of evening. Ares motioned to the street ahead and they began to walk. "If it makes you feel any better, I don't believe she was truly angry with you, or even Stonewall."

"Could've fooled me," Trax muttered.

Ares sighed. "Regret sours even the best people over time. If I had to guess, I'd say she was most angry with herself."

Traxis turned to him, brow furrowed, suddenly so very young, almost innocent. "Herself? Why?"

"I don't know for certain," Ares admitted as they walked. "But if I were a betting fellow, I'd say she's regretting that decade of not contacting her brother, now that he's gone. It is a cruel joke of the galaxy to remind us of how much we love something only after it is out of our reach."

They walked in silence for a few minutes, but it was not the uneasy kind. Rather, it was contemplative, at least to Ares. Indeed, when they were within sight of the city gates, Traxis took his hand and squeezed once. His grip was strong. It felt like a grip that would never let go, once its owner's mind was made up. It made Ares' steps lighter, so he squeezed back. Traxis glanced his way but said nothing. He didn't have to.

* * *

_Later..._

Traxis scowled at the shuttle cabin's walls, practically close enough to touch on all sides if he stood at the room's center. "I think you got swindled."

"No, this is a premium suite," Ares said.

"It's a kriffing foot locker."

Ares' voice wavered as he shivered and rubbed his arms. "That or a conservator. Do you see a thermostat?"

Traxis shook his head and kicked the nearest bulkhead. "There's not even a bed. Are you supposed to sleep on the fekking floor?"

Still shivering, the Twi'lek nodded to the abused section of wall. "Do you see that panel?"

"Yeah."

"Activate it."

Traxis eyed his companion. "Why?"

"Just try it." Ares' lips twitched like he was trying to fight back a smile; Traxis was torn between rolling his eyes and covering Ares' mouth with his own.

With a sigh, Traxis hit the small panel. No telling what he'd been expecting, but it was certainly not the bulkhead to slide aside, revealing a small bunk that folded out of the wall. To avoid being crushed, Traxis stepped away, which, given the tight quarters, meant that his back was pressed against Ares' chest. Not that he _minded._ It was a good chest. Solid.

Not terribly warm, though. He stepped back and swept his eyes over Ares' trembling body. "Kriff, are you really that cold?"

"This room is...freezing," Ares replied through chattering teeth. "I s...swear we're in open s...space."

Within the confines of his body-glove and armor, Traxis was kept at a comfortable temp, but his companion didn't have much more than a coat for warmth. One _particular_ method of creating ample body heat came to mind, but it flew in the face of Trax's resolve not to push Ares into the more physical stuff.

So, with great effort, Traxis turned his attention to the bunk, which was outfitted with one lumpy pillow and a blanket he could practically see through. "It's only about three hours until we reach Corrie. Can you make it?"

In response, Ares all but dove beneath the blanket, pausing only to kick off his boots before huddling in a shivering, coral-colored mass. He pulled the blanket over the tops of his _lekku,_ such that his eyes were only barely exposed. "Oh, the sheets are cold."

Amused, Traxis leaned against the bulkhead and crossed his arms before his chest. "You'll warm up in a few minutes."

There was a long, long pause, then Ares cleared his throat. "I cannot wait that long."

"Well, I don't know what to _crinking_ tell you. I can't change the laws of thermodynamics."

Ares sighed. "Traxis."

"What?"

The blanket crept back, exposing Ares' warm, brown eyes fully. "Come here. Please."

Traxis regarded him as calmly as he could manage, though his entire body had reacted to Ares' quiet words. "Are you sure? Because before, you said you didn't–"

"I take it all back," Ares broke in. "Every word. All I want is to be naked with you. I think that would keep us both sufficiently, ah, warm for the duration of the journey."

One of the nice things about clone armor was that it could be shucked in a relatively short amount of time. This time, though, Traxis thought he'd set a new record, for he was bare-assed and sliding into the bunk beside Ares in mere seconds.

"All right," he said once they were a breath apart. "We're halfway there. Now it's your turn to get naked."

Ares began twisting to get out of his jacket, shirt and pants. He was not nearly as efficient as Traxis in this regard, but the resulting ripples of lean, yet hard muscle beneath taut coral skin was worth every minute. Once the Twi'lek was naked, he sidled close to Traxis, pressing the length of his entire body to Traxis' and meeting his eyes.

"Much better," he said quietly.

This close, Traxis could make out the faint lines that bracketed his mouth, like he'd smiled a lot throughout his life. Given what Trax knew of that life, those lines spoke volumes about the male who wore them. Ares' skin was flushed a deeper coral now, and the _lek_ that fell over his shoulder to rest between their chests was faintly brindled.

Fek, he was gorgeous. Traxis ran a fingertip down the length of the _lek,_ causing Ares to suck in his breath, before he squeezed Ares' trim waist. "Warmer?"

Breath still short, Ares' eyes lidded and he leaned closer, tilting his head just so and brushing his lips against Traxis' as he replied. "Getting there."

"'Getting there?'" Traxis repeated, shifting his hips so that Ares could tell – not that it was easy to miss – how much he was enjoying the Twi'lek's closeness. "That's not good enough for me. Guess I'll have to turn up the heat."

He punctuated his words with another stroke against the _lek_ , which resulted in another inhale from the coral-skinned male, so close, Trax could feel his heartbeat. He trailed his hand down Ares' side, his hip, and lower still.

Ares groaned and pressed himself into Traxis' palm. "You're doing a fine job of it so far."

Traxis pressed his forehead to Ares', silently urging the other male to meet his eyes. "And I'm only just getting started."

Ares smiled.

* * *

_Later..._

"And sign here," the agent said, tapping her manicured nails against the datapad. Ares scrawled his signature; messy, but he was a bundle of nerves and the stylus trembled in his fingers. So close.

Finished, he glanced at the young Bith female behind the desk at the Tax Collector's office. "Is that–"

But she cut him off when she withdrew a piece of flimsi from a folder on her desk and slid it across to him. "One more," she said brightly. "Sign it and give it back; it's yours, but we need a copy for our records. You'll get an electronic copy as well, but it's standard to receive a flimsi of a title of ownership."

The office was quiet today. Only a few other patrons occupied the area, renewing licenses or ship registrations; their voices drifted through the sounds of shuffling flimsies.

Such a mundane setting, considering that the shape of his life was forever changed.

Ares stared at the document. There was the _Raven's_ serial number, along with the words, _property of Ares Tabora,_ and some official seal or another. It was done. The _Stark Raven_ was his.

Someone cleared their throat beside him, so Ares snapped out of his haze, withdrew his own ink stylus from his pocket, and – carefully and cleanly, this time – signed his name. He handed the paper back to the Bith, who turned back to her computer.

"Is that it?" Traxis asked.

Ares took a deep breath – why was he trembling? – and nodded. "The final payment has been made and the _Raven's_ title has been fully transferred to my name."

The words made perfect sense, but were still surreal. It was like watching a holo-drama. He hardly dared to believe this was truly happening.

Traxis, however, took everything in stride and nodded briskly. "Great. Then we can collect your ship and get the _shab_ off of this rock. The city's too effing crowded."

He was armored but unarmed, though the latter was not without protest. Ares had thought it would be prudent not to enter a government facility while armed to the teeth, but it'd taken some work on his part to convince Traxis. Actually a few favors had been promised, and he looked forward to the journey back to Aruna, when Traxis would surely cash them in.

"Mr. Tabora?"

Blinking, Ares glanced back at the Bith, who offered a small folder and a datapad. "You're all set. Have a nice day."

He accepted the 'pad and folder, and headed for the exit, Traxis on his heels. The moment they were on the pedwalk outside, Ares exhaled and smiled at his clone companion. "Shell we celebrate now, or later?"

The moment they'd stepped outside the building, Traxis had shoved his helmet on. But Ares could hear the frown in his voice. "Let's not count our nunas before they're hatched." The black T-visor slanted in Ares' direction. "Don't you want to make sure your ship is one-hundred percent?"

"You're right." Ares nodded to the nearest airtaxi. "Let's ensure that Bane did not scratch the paint." Or anything else, though he could not entertain those thoughts now and hope to remain sane.

A strong hand reached for his, squeezing once before falling back to Traxis' side. "I do plan on celebrating with you," Trax said. "A long, hard celebration, the entire trip back to Aruna, until neither of us can kriffing walk. How does that sound?"

His baritone sent a hot flush across both _lekku_ even as Ares' heart seemed to launch itself into atmo. Nothing else mattered, but this man; even the _Raven_ slipped to the back of his mind when Traxis spoke. It had never been this way with any other lover, and Ares had known quite a few.

They would return to Aruna, and then what? He had a notion, but if Traxis wasn't game, he did not know what to do. Something not-so-pleasant began to coil in his gut.

But he tried to push the feeling aside as he approached the airtaxi. Traxis was not gone, not yet. Now was not the time to mourn what he'd not yet lost; now was the time to savor what marched steadfastly at his side.

The _Stark Raven_ was as Traxis remembered. After an examination of the cockpit, Ares had gone to the engine room; now, Traxis stood at the doorway while the Twi'lek rooted around the hyperdrive. Or was that the alluvial damper?

After about ten minutes of clanging and Ares muttering to himself, Traxis cleared his throat. "How's it look?"

"Quite well, actually." Ares poked his head from behind the bulky hyperdrive. Or maybe it was the sublight engines. "I don't think he did anything more than fly her to Coruscant."

"Great." Traxis thumbed the corridor behind him, which led to the rest of the ship. "Why don't you show me your bunk? I think we should start celebrating now."

Ares chuckled as he slid out from behind the alluvial-hyper-whatever-it-was. "Certainly. But..." A frown came to his face as he reached into his pocket. "I have something for you, first."

He held out his gloved hand. Resting in his palm was–

"A credit chip?"

"Your cut of the bounty," Ares said, nodding. "I've taken my share. But you apprehended Bane and helped bring him into custody. Therefore," he offered the chip again, "this is yours."

Something hard balled in Traxis' gut and he pushed Ares' hand back. "I don't want your _crinking_ money. I told you already, that's not why I came along."

At first, Ares was silent, running the chip through his slender fingers. "Trax, I know your life is elsewhere. Your family; your brothers. But I would like to ask if you..." He exhaled deeply and met Traxis' eyes. "I could use a partner in this line of work. And I do think we make a good team. Would you consider the possibility of...working with me, from this day forward?"

Traxis stared at him. "For how long?"

A flush spread across both _lekku_ , and Ares glanced at their boots. "Until you no longer want to."

_Kriffing hell._ It was probably the last thing he'd expected to be asked today. Or ever. Traxis ran a hand through his hair; as he did, he caught sight of the credit chip in Ares' palm. Fek, it was tempting, for many reasons, most of which were looking at him like he'd fly away right here.

But...

His family. Crest and probably Milo were about to leave Aruna for who knew how long, but Weave was still there, and Stonewall. Kali, too, and her and Stonewall's kid. His heart actually fekking ached at the thought of leaving them all behind. Not to mention that he kind of liked the idea of being an uncle.

But...

Ares stood before him, body tense, _lekku_ trembling. His eyes, his expressive eyes, were now fixed on Traxis'. What would it be like, to wake up to those eyes every day? To fall asleep beside this male, one arm at his waist, liked they'd been on the shuttle to Corrie?

Strangely, Milo's voice echoed in his head. " _You just have to go for it,_ vod _."_

_They'll understand,_ he thought. _They want me to be happy._ He glanced at Ares again. "Just so I'm clear, you want me to work with you as a bounty hunter?"

"Yes. A full partnership. I can have the Guild draw up the paperwork by the end of the week."

Traxis nodded slowly, then stuck out his hand. "Alright. I'm in. You civvies shake on things, right?"

A smile, bright and beaming, blossomed across Ares' face, but he shook his head. "No." He grabbed Trax's neck and pulled him close enough to feel the heat from his breath. " _This_ is how we, ah, civvies do things."

It was a very, very good journey.

* * *

A/N: This chapter, particularly the naughty bits, is dedicated to **impoeia** , whose beta-work made this story something special, and whose friendship has kept me sane. She's a tremendous writer, and if you've not done so already, please check out her work!


	68. Chapter Sixty-Seven

Lyrics:[ "Open Road," by Slightly Stoopid, from _Closer To The Sun._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ssNuhZYx_LQ)

* * *

**Chapter Sixty-Seven**

_Lights go down,_

_And you're ready for the open road._

_Maybe there's a chance for show._

_Never really know if you'll be on the other side,_

_When it's time to come home._

_Meanwhile..._

Weave technically wasn't _in_ the GAR any longer, so this, technically, wasn't insubordination. "Stonewall, you know I have to do this."

Despite his assertions, the former captain's glare cut across him like a laser scalpel. "Absolutely not. You're being stubborn. Again."

_Who's calling whom stubborn?_ Weave bit back the retort and kept his reply suitably calm. "You can't possibly think I'd allow further dissemination of the rapid-aging cure without testing it myself."

"And _you_ can't possibly think I'd allow you to risk yoursel–"

"Stonewall," Weave broke in, lifting his chin. "With respect, this is not your area of expertise. It is mine. I've done significant tests on the nanogene droids over the past few months, enough so that I'm confident they'll do their job."

Stonewall crossed his arms before his chest. "Your life is too valuable to risk. Do some more tests."

Kriff, there was no reasoning with his _vod_ , sometimes. Weave exhaled slowly and glanced at his datapad to give himself time to consider his reply.

_I never should have mentioned this. I should have just done it_. But while he'd thought ahead enough to keep his brother in the loop, just in case something _did_ go wrong, he'd not considered that Stonewall's reaction to his plan would be less-than-ideal.

Perhaps he should have. But he'd been preoccupied, to say the least. Coordinating new lives for his brothers was not easy, and then there was the issue of his unanswered messages...

He risked a glance at his comlink; he'd sent Honi several messages over the last several months, keeping her up-to-date on his work, but she'd not responded. Granted, the Jedi Order had a few other things to worry about right now, but surely she could have sent _some_ sort of reply. Even a cold "thank you for the information" would be preferable to comm silence.

In the corner of his eye was a line of bacta tanks, bubbling quietly as the clones within them healed – or, in the case of three men – allowed the nanogene droids to work their wonder. This thought in mind, he glanced back at his former captain.

"This is the fourth batch of clones to receive the treatment," he said, nodding toward the tanks. "You know Cob and I keep pretty detailed logs, so I hope you'll believe me when I say the rapid-aging cure has, overall, been a success."

Stonewall frowned. "Yes, but that's still only...what, a dozen men who've undergone the treatment?"

"A dozen, perfectly healthy men whose aging has been normalized." Weave subtly gestured to Trig, helping Cobble to support a one-legged clone as he hopped out of a bacta tank. "Trig swears he feels _younger,_ though I think that's just psychosomatic."

"But long-term effects–"

"Remain to be seen, it's true. But nothing I've seen so far suggests any adverse effects, now or later." Weave set his 'pad down and faced his brother. "Besides, isn't it worth the risk to live a normal life?"

Stonewall ran a hand through his hair, seeming to consider Weave's words for a long moment, until he sighed. "I don't want to risk you," he said quietly, not looking at Weave. "Any of you."

"We're bred for 'risk,'" Weave replied gently. "This is just a new sort."

His _vod_ 's smile was thin. "I suppose. But I still don't like it."

"You don't have to like something for it to be of value," Weave pointed out, perhaps a bit more sharply than he intended, for in his mind's eye, he saw a pair of blue eyes and a freckle-dotted nose.

Stonewall made a noncommittal noise. "When will this take place?"

"Another few days. I want to make sure the men who're currently undergoing the treatment are stable. Then I'll have Cob put me and a few others under."

"No." Stonewall raised his chin, suddenly every inch the commanding officer he'd been, and it took all of Weave's effort to not snap to attention. "Just you. No one else. Just in case."

It was a concession Weave did not like – it felt too much like wasting _more_ time – but it was one he was willing to give. "Very well. Just me. Cob will oversee the procedure – unless you'd like to take over?"

This was said deadpan, though the minute Stonewall glared at him, he chuckled. "Sorry," Weave said with a smile. "Crest isn't here to make jokes. I'm trying to fill in the gaps."

"Next time, add more bad puns and sexual innuendos."

Weave couldn't help himself, and saluted. "Yes, sir, Captain, sir."

Stonewall rolled his eyes, but he was smiling, too. " _Di'kut_."

* * *

_Later..._

Honi pushed an errant strand of copper hair aside and frowned at her friend. "You look exhausted."

"Everyone always looks washed out in a holo," Kalinda replied, arching a brow. "It's not very flattering."

"You're getting enough rest? Taking the supplements?"

Kalinda blew out a breath. "Kriffing hell, _yes._ To both. But growing another person inside of you is rather taxing." She paused, and a sly grin came to her face. "You should try it."

"I won't dignify that with a response."

To illustrate, Honi folded her hands in her lap and sat upright in her chair. The small office, tucked in the administrative section of the Halls of Healing, was an oasis of calm these days, and she'd taken advantage of a bit of free time to call her friend from a relatively private location. Even through several corridors and closed doors, even surrounded by datapads and stacks of flimsies, the scent of bacta lingered in the air. While unpleasant to most, Honi found it rather comforting. It meant that good things were happening. It meant _hope._

"You know," Kalinda said after a moment. "I should ask you the same question. When was the last time you got a decent night's sleep?"

"That's not relevant."

"Humor me."

Honi frowned. "I can't quite recall. Probably some time on Aruna."

"Aruna? That's been months." Kalinda was not a tall woman, but somehow her petite, holographic form seemed to grow with her frustration. "Would you like me to repeat your own advice, Healer Tallis?"

"I am getting adequate rest," Honi replied, shaking her head. "Enough so that I can safely perform my duties. I don't have the luxury of anything more. But I'm not overtired, I assure you."

Kalinda studied her for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Very well. If you say it's so, then I'll believe you and change the subject. Has Weave written to you about the nanodroids?"

It was not the sudden shift but the topic that made Honi's cheeks flush. She glanced down at her comlink, resting at her belt. "He's sent a few messages, though I've not had time to respond."

She did not describe their content: detailed but somehow right to the point, evidence of his keen intellect and professionalism, but also somehow...warm. She did not say that she'd read each one, again and again, often late at night when she was at her most exhausted, when she most needed some comfort. She did not give voice to the thoughts she'd had in the long hours since she'd seen him last, nor to the gentle memory of his kiss that had sustained her through these trials.

But when Honi looked into her former teacher's eyes again, it was clear that Kalinda knew. Somehow, she understood what Honi did not acknowledge. It had always been so between them.

"You should write back, if you get the chance," Kalinda said, leaning back in her own chair. Honi thought she was in the nursery; she was stretched out on a padded seat, rocking back and forth, her hands resting on the increasing swell of her stomach. "Sooner rather than later."

Honi frowned. "You know I hate when you're cryptic."

"And yet..." Kalinda smoothed away a smile; when she met Honi's eyes, her expression was troubled. "He and Stonewall got into an argument today. Apparently, Weave's set on testing the nanodroids on himself, next."

"Himself?" Honi nearly shot out of her chair, but managed to keep still. "Are they ready? Is _he_?"

"A dozen men have undergone the procedure and come out fine," Kalinda said. "But Weave thinks it's time he took the plunge, and he won't be swayed."

"Then he's a fool."

Kalinda slanted her one of those annoying _I-know-you-don't-mean-that_ looks. "Haven't you learned how stubborn clones can be?"

Crossing her arms again, Honi schooled herself to calm, for her heart rate was elevated and her stomach was starting to clench with nerves. But she could no longer feign innocence. Weave was potentially in danger. Perhaps he was right, and the nanos would be safe. Perhaps all the tests he'd done and preparations he'd made would stave off any true harm coming to him.

But she could not take that chance. She needed to _know_ he was well, for her own peace of mind.

The realization should have frightened her, but she was prepared to face the fear, this time. "I should be going," she said, bowing her head once. "I will be in touch. Be well, Kalinda. May the Force be with you."

Her former teacher wore one of her knowing looks, but nodded solemnly. "And you, Honi."

* * *

_Later..._

Despite her traitorous, racing heart, Honi stood calmly at the center of the Council Chambers. "Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice, Masters."

There were only three, but they were some of the most venerable. Master Yoda nodded in acknowledgment of her words, while Master Windu leaned back in his chair, natural and prosthetic hands clasped before him in thought. "Your message indicated it was urgent."

"It is." She took a deep breath. "I've received word from Aruna."

"Aruna? Oh, dear. I do hope everything is well." Master Kenobi's voice was ostensibly dry, but she knew him well enough to discern his interest – and agitation.

"Quite well," Honi assured him. "At least...mostly, I suppose." _Stop rambling._ "Is the Council aware that a cure for the clones' rapid aging has been created?"

The three Masters exchanged glances. "We have been informed," Master Windu said, nodding. "Something to do with information you and," he paused, "Kalinda discovered on Kamino?"

_Kalinda,_ not _Knight Halcyon._ Did the Council really not consider her former teacher a true Jedi any longer? Marriage and pregnancy seemed so utterly _normal_ in the wake of all that had passed. Kalinda was impulsive and short-sighted at times, but she was no Sith. She did not deserve to be cast aside, even in their minds.

But now was not the time for such thoughts. Honi pushed aside the bitter feelings and kept her words steady. "The cure is nearly ready to be disseminated among the ranks. Only a few final...tests need to be performed. Already, a dozen clones have been treated, and are showing no ill-effects."

The air in the Council Chambers seemed to cool, though it was not linked to the mood of the room's inhabitants. The feeling reminded Honi of a bacta patch smoothed over a burning wound: relief.

"Good news, that is." Master Yoda's ears twitched as they did when he was quite pleased. "Deserving of a full life, the clones are."

"I agree," Master Kenobi said. "But I cannot help but consider the logistics of such a thing. How involved is the treatment? How easy is it to replicate?"

"That is why I wanted to speak to you," Honi replied. "I do not have those answers, but there is one man who does – and he's on Aruna." She straightened and met their gazes in turn. "I request permission to travel there and learn what I can about the mechanics of the cure, including how best to disseminate it to the entire army."

The room was silent. The cool feeling sharpened a fraction before settling into tepid acceptance. None of the three Jedi Masters spoke, or even glanced at one another, but she knew, somehow, they were discussing her request.

At last, Master Windu cleared his throat. "You are asking permission, this time?"

Her cheeks burned. "I–"

"That is in the past," Master Kenobi interjected. "Where it shall stay. "

He shot a glance at Master Windu, who regarded Honi. "You have proven your loyalty to the Jedi Order. Have you made arrangements for your duties while you are absent?"

"Mostly," she said. "I have not mentioned this to Zara. She's been quite busy in the Halls of Healing." As had they all, but she did not give voice to that reality.

"With her Master, a Padawan's place is," Master Yoda said. "Go with you, she should."

Honi hesitated. He was right, of course, but somehow, she had a doubt. "I will speak to her, Masters. Can I take it, then, that you approve my request?"

Master Kenobi smiled. "Permission granted, Honi. Keep us informed, and may the Force be with you."

"Thank you. I will." She bowed once, low and proper, though her heart was light. "And you as well, Masters."

* * *

_Meanwhile..._

Zara smiled at the clone trooper in the bio-bed. "Hi, Podge. How are you feeling today?"

"Quite well, Commander," he said with a nod, the picture of formality despite the bandages around his chest. "Thank you for asking."

She glanced at the datapad that held his info; he'd been injured during the 501st's attack on the Temple, but was healing quickly. "You're scheduled to be out of here soon," she added, looking back at him. "Are you ready to be sent back to your post?"

He was younger than the clones of Shadow Squad, even Milo, but there was something ageless about all the clones, something she still did not quite understand. He considered her question and then gave another of his solemn nods. "Yes, Commander. I'm ready to get back to work. It will be good to be of use again."

His file indicated he'd been on transport duty in the Temple hangar. Not the most exciting post, but then, he didn't seem like the sort to crave adventure. Still, she caught a whiff of...resignation from him, sensing the emotion as a faint, sour tinge to the air.

"You know," she ventured as she set his 'pad aside. "There are lots of options for clones right now. If someone maybe didn't want to go back to what they were doing, they could be reassigned somewhere more interesting."

"More interesting than the Jedi Temple?" He gave a snort of disbelief before coughing into his hand and sitting impossibly straighter. Quite a feat, given the bandages. "With respect, Commander, I find that hard to believe, given...er, recent events."

Zara could not suppress a chuckle. "Fair enough. But if you ever do change your mind, you have options. You don't even have to fight if you don't want to. There are programs in place for men who want to learn a skill or trade."

Her sensitive _lekku_ detected the changes in his pheromones as he mulled her words over. Resignation faded into curiosity – an almost peppery sort of feeling – before he nodded once to himself; the curiosity fell away, replaced by clean, sweet determination.

"Yes, sir, I've heard of those. It's a nice idea...for men who can't fight." Podger took a deep breath and met her eyes. "But I'm not one of those men. Not yet, any way."

He meant every word. "No, you're not," she replied.

"Not that I don't appreciate all the work you – and the other Jedi – have done," he added quickly. "And I'm glad to know that the citizens of the Republic value us as well. But...I'm happy where I am. Or will be." He flushed. "Sir."

"I know exactly what you mean." Zara smiled at him.

She made a few notes on his chart before wishing him goodnight and slipping into the corridor, heading for her next patient's room. It was well past dinnertime, but the Halls of Healing were still bustling. Every GAR base in the city was filled to bursting with injured clones, so the Temple had taken on the excess, in addition to the Jedi who'd been injured during _that_ night.

Everyone knew of the infamous "Order Sixty-Six" by now, but Zara could not think of _that_ night any other way. The entire galaxy had changed, but it did not seem to be for the better, even though the Wars were over. And she still saw Master Windu, broken and bleeding, when she tried to fall asleep.

Zara shivered. So much had been lost. Could the Order ever go back to what it was?

Adrift in her thoughts, she did not see the group of young clones before it was almost too late; only by virtue of her training and reflexes was she able to avoid a collision by whirling out of the way.

"Sorry about..." She turned to apologize, but forgot what she wanted to say at the sight that greeted her.

Levy grinned and gave a shy wave. "Hi, Zar."

The clone boys gathered around him gaped between their brother and the Padawan. "Oy," one of them hissed, nudging Levy's side. "She's a _commander,_ Lev. Show some respect."

Levy's smile widened.

Zara, too, was smiling so hard she thought her face would break. "Levy!" She launched herself at him, hugging him tightly before stepping back. "You look like a clone!"

A few of the others covered their mouths with their hands, chuckling, while Levy tilted his head in curiosity. "Uh..."

Kriff. Her _lekku_ flushed and she shook her head. "I mean...you're all spiffed up."

"Oh, yeah." He tugged at his fatigues, crimson and blue, like the other cadets', and gave her a smart salute. He looked older, too; perhaps sixteen or seventeen. "That's what happens in the army. They like us spiffy."

A Muun pushing a bio-bed turned the corner beyond, so Zara and the cadets stepped out of the way; thankfully, she had a few minutes to spare.

"So you got accepted back?" she asked Levy.

He glanced at the others, who pressed a bit closer to him. One, the boy who'd chided him about her title, saluted as well. "Yes, Commander. Levy is officially...er...back in action."

"Well," another boy said, rolling his eyes. "It's not real _action,_ is it? Just running errands around the Temple."

"But it's the _Jedi_ Temple, Risky," the first boy replied archly.

Risky pulled a face. "It's still boring as fek."

"Calm down, Risk," another boy said, slapping his back. "You'll get plenty of chances to shoot droids during those sims tomorrow."

Zara shot a glance at Levy, who nodded once. "We're still training," he explained. "But it's okay. I haven't had any...problems."

"If he does, he's to let us know at once," the first cadet said. "We're not letting our _vod_ get sent away again." He patted Levy's shoulder, though his eyes were on Zara. She'd seen clone eyes, of course, but there was something about his that stood out, somehow.

"I'm Zara Karell," she said, extending her hand.

He saluted again. "That's Risky, Keo and Finn," he said, pointing to each fellow in turn. "And you know Levy."

She could not help herself. "What's your name?"

Strangely, his cheeks darkened, and he made no reply. Levy, however, quickly interceded. "All the Clone Youth Brigades have been assigned to help with the cleanup; our squad is running errands for Healers and medics here."

"We were lucky to get stationed at the Temple," Keo added wryly. "No matter what Risky says."

"Kriff you."

Their laughter echoed through the corridor and Zara grinned in response, though she could not keep from looking at the unnamed cadet again. He, too, regarded her with a sort of calm interest, though she caught a flicker of nerves from him, a faint tremble of electricity, like a distant storm was brewing.

"Well," she said after a beat, "I'm here, too, for the foreseeable future. Do you guys ever get free time? Maybe we can hang out."

Levy saluted. "Yes, sir, Commander Zara."

"Oh, stop," she replied, rolling her eyes. " _Di'kut._ "

"Hey, she knows Mando'a," Keo exclaimed. "Wait...how does a Jedi know Mando'a?"

Risky snorted. "The Force, obviously."

Finn, who'd been quiet until now, cleared his throat. "That's not how the Force works."

"Like you have _any_ idea," Risky shot back.

"Well, _you_ sure as kriff don't," Keo replied.

"Ignore them, Commander," the unnamed cadet broke in. "We'll let you get back to your duties. Er..." To her amusement, he flushed again. "Will you be here tomorrow?"

"Absolutely," she replied with a smile. "I'll see you guys then, okay?"

The others said their goodbyes and turned to leave, but Levy remained, rocking on his heels as he glanced from his brothers to her. Indecision rippled around him.

Zara saved him the choice. She embraced him warmly. "It's really good to see you, Lev," she said when they parted. "I'm glad you're okay. Are you happy?"

"Yeah. It's good to be back with them. Really good. And it's good to see you, too." He considered something, then leaned forward and said quietly, "He doesn't have a name yet."

Now it was _her_ turn to flush. "Oh. Why?"

Levy shrugged. "Hasn't found the right one, I guess."

"I hope he does, one day." She toyed with one _lek_ before smiling at her friend. "Looks like we'll be working together again. Don't you dare salute me anymore."

"Wouldn't dream of it." He glanced over his shoulder again; the others had paused by the nearest corner. "Guess I should be going. See you later, Zara."

"Bye, Levy."

He trotted off without another word; the moment he rejoined the others, they made their way down the corridor, though she caught the unnamed cadet glance back, on last time. But he, too, rounded the corner with the others.

The Halls had quieted a little during the brief conversation, and Zara felt oddly alone, which was silly, because there were a zillion others nearby and she had loads of work to do. But something was amiss. Something held her in place.

"Zara." The familiar voice made her turn to face Master Tallis, who was striding down the opposite corridor from where the cadets had gone. Her pace was quick, her Force-presence disturbed, like someone had tossed a stone in the center of a smooth pond.

Zara straightened. "What's wrong?"

Her Master's face was calm, but the Force whispered the truth as much as the non-answer. "Why are you still here? Your shift was over hours ago."

"Some of the others got called away, so I offered to fill in."

Honi's lips thinned and Zara's heart sank. She was working as hard as she could! What more did her Master expect?

But her Master's disapproval was fleeting. Honi placed a hand on Zara's shoulder and gently guided her out of the main corridor, into a smaller alcove with a window that overlooked the city. "Your efforts are admirable, but you must rest."

"So do you," Zara heard herself say. "I don't think you've slept since we got back from Aruna."

She'd expected a blistering retort, but to her amazement, a small smile crept to her Master's face. A few strands of hair had come loose from their pins; Honi smoothed them behind her ears and regarded her Padawan with what Zara could only think of as apprehension. "I've spoken to Kalinda. The nanogene droids are nearly ready to be disseminated to the army at large."

"That's wonderful!" Zara grinned, though she frowned a beat later, thinking over her Master's words. "Wait...'nearly' ready? What does that mean? Are they dangerous? Are there side effects?"

That same, apprehensive look came to Honi's face, as if this were an issue that was close to her heart, but her emotions were far-reaching.

If Zara had to guess, they probably reached all the way to Aruna.

"Weave is convinced they are ready," Honi said at last. "But I am not. Therefore, I have asked the Council to approve a visit to Aruna to investigate the issue."

"Oh." Zara's stomach squirmed. Visiting Aruna again, seeing Weave, Kali and the others would be wonderful, but... "Can they spare us?" she ventured. "It's been so busy here."

Her Master hesitated again, before meeting Zara's eyes. "The Council has indicated that your proper place is at my side, and normally, I would agree with them. But in this case...I think you should make the decision for yourself. You are," she gave another, faint smile, "quite capable of making such a choice, after all."

There was no reprimand in the words. There was only amusement and, to Zara's astonishment, pride; it was crisp, almost unexpected, like biting into a muja fruit plucked at just the right moment.

"You don't want me to go with you?" Zara asked.

"I want you to work hard and learn as much as you can, and be the best Jedi you can be, whether that happens at my side or elsewhere."

As much as she wanted to be pleased, Zara could not help but frown. "You still want me as a Padawan, right? This isn't some way of...getting rid of me?"

Rather than reply immediately, Honi regarded her, expression smooth, but not cold. "You are my Padawan, Zara," she said at last. "That has not changed, nor will it, until you are ready to take the Trials. Each Jedi must walk her own path; as Master and Padawan, though, we often walk them together."

"But not always," Zara finished.

Honi inclined her head in agreement. "What would you like to do?"

"I want to stay," Zara said without hesitation. "But...I'll want to help when the rapid aging cure is ready."

"I imagine your help will be much needed."

Nodding, Zara studied her Master. A measure of apprehension still emanated from the Human woman, and only a small bit of it was centered on Zara. But that was okay. It was nice to know her Master wasn't too worried for her; it meant she trusted her.

"When are you leaving?" Zara asked.

"Quite soon, hopefully," Honi replied. "Once I arrange some transportation, I should be on my way." She paused. "In the meantime, I'll expect you to keep me apprised of matters here. And do not hesitate to comm if you need me."

"Right. But..." Zara fought to hide a smile. "Can I ask you something, Master Tallis?"

Honi nodded.

Zara allowed her grin to slip free. "Tell Weave I said 'hello,' will you?"

* * *

_Later..._

Consciousness trickled back, when Weave would have preferred it rush over him the moment he'd woken from the conergin-stasis. But thinking clearly right now was about as useful as slogging through...

No analogy came to mind. He frowned.

As always, it was more prudent to focus on the tangible. He inhaled and caught a familiar sickly-sweet scent: bacta, and himself from being immersed in bacta for... Kriff, where was the chrono?

His vision was as blurry as his thoughts, and he blinked a few times in an effort to clear his sight. It didn't work at first, then he realized he was in one of the patient rooms in the RC, and it was dimly lit. He had no memory of getting here, which was troubling. Surely he'd recall _some_ part of the stumbling process that was exiting a bacta tank.

But he was not in immediate danger – that he knew of – so he continued his self-examination. His body felt heavy, as if his skin was made of stone and his muscles ached from supporting their own weight. His mouth was stuffed with invisible cotton.

He tried to chuckle at the thought. Dry mouth was a symptom of conergin-stasis, as was the heavy, achy feeling, though the latter was only common among patients who'd been in bacta for a week or more. Experiencing it after being in bacta only a few days – he presumed – was highly unusual...

The nanos. A little more of his awareness trickled back and he recalled Zero and the others sharing similar experiences upon awakening, though theirs had been much worse. Weave doubted his own tolerance for pain was higher than men who'd experienced torture at Creon Dai's hands.

No, something else was going on. He felt like _osik,_ but it wasn't _nearly_ as bad as it should have...

A flash of copper stirred beside him. Weave blinked and, after a few moments, convinced his head to turn so that he could see.

Honi Tallis sat beside his bed, back straight, blue eyes fixed upon him with an intensity that warmed him from the inside out. The moment his gaze met hers, she inclined her head. "How do you feel?"

He said nothing, and it was not entirely because his tongue felt like a lint-covered sock.

Her delicate brows drew together. "Are you in pain?"

"No," he managed. "Just shock."

In a flash, she'd taken his wrist in her hand to check his pulse; her skin was soft and cool, and even in the dim light her hair shone. "You showed no signs of ill-effects from the treatment, but I knew I was right to come... "

It was an effort to place his other hand above hers – his body protested at the movement – but some things were worth a little pain. He had an inkling as to how she'd known about his self-appointed testing, but in all honesty, didn't care about that part of the puzzle right now. "Honi."

She met his gaze, annoyance flashing in her bright blue eyes. "What?"

He squeezed her fingers. "I'm glad you're here."

Whatever she'd expected him to say, he didn't think it was this, for her eyes widened and a beautiful, pink flush crept to her cheeks, even as her voice was prim. "Surely you didn't expect me to let you undergo this on your own?"

"You've never been anything like I expect." Words came easier, the longer he touched her.

She blushed again, but her next words were all business. "I came to oversee your recovery, as well as discuss the dissemination of the rapid aging cure. The Council raised some very valid questions, and I think it's best that you and I approach the problem together."

"Together."

"Yes. You have the necessary knowledge of the cure and the workings of the GAR, while I have an understanding of the resources it will take to accomplish this task."

She said more after this. A lot more. Weave tried to pay attention, but his focus kept getting pulled to the play of lamplight on her freckles. At last she finished speaking and regarded him expectantly.

Her lips looked soft and pliable. But he had no clue what she'd just said, so he replied, "Okay."

She frowned at him. "Were you listening to me?"

"Of course," he said, nodding. "Disseminate the cure. Sounds good."

"You're _not_ listening." She made to pull her hand back, but he held her in place.

"Don't leave yet," he said as he met her eyes. "Not again. Please."

"Weave..."

But he was on a roll, as if he'd been building momentum from the moment they'd met. "Do you really only want sex from me?"

Her mouth opened but no sound came out, and he was suddenly, irrationally annoyed, so he barely noticed the struggle it took to sit upright. "Answer me. Not as General Tallis, not as a Healer, but as _Honi._ Look me in the eyes and tell me you want nothing more from me than someone to warm your bed."

"I will not stray from my path," she said at last. "But..."

"But what?" She was silent. Weave took a deep breath. "I'm not asking you to marry me, Honi. I just think there's something here." He squeezed her hand again. "Something worth exploring on a deeper level."

_Shab_ , what an awful pun, and he must have really missed Crest to have _that_ thought now. Honi's hand trembled in his. Kriff, her whole body trembled, and he was suddenly aware of how close they were, of his flimsy tunic and her thin robes, and the ache in his body that had nothing to do with nanodroids.

At last she swallowed and met his eyes. "I do want...more from you. With you."

"That's what I want, too. And I don't want to make you stray from your life as a Jedi." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "But do you think that maybe our paths could follow the same route, just for a little while?"

A small smile tugged at her mouth. "I suppose stranger things have happened."

His heart kicked up again, chasing all remnants of his discomfort away. "Is that a 'yes?'"

The small smile broadened to full, and his breath caught at the transformation of her features. "Yes, Weave."

"Oh, good." Her hand was still in his, so he gently pulled her closer. All kinds of notions whirled through his brain; sweet, romantic words, passionate kisses, and all those other things.

Then she whispered his name, and it was the most beautiful sound. Weave cupped her cheek in his free hand and closed the gap between them.

* * *

A/N: Anyone catch the (non-spoiler) nod to _The Force Awakens_? ;)


	69. Chapter Sixty-Eight

Lyrics: ["Sitting In Limbo," by Jimmy Cliff, from _Another Cycle_.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vRoJyaZW6SA)

* * *

**Chapter Sixty-Eight**

_I don't know where life will lead me,_

_But I know where I have been._

_I can't say what life will show me,_

_But I know what I have seen._

_One month later..._

Heart racing, Milo read the message a third time. It was the first – and only – correspondence he'd received on old-fashioned flimsi, and as such, the message felt heavy, weighted with importance. The words had not changed, but he couldn't stop himself from reading them, again and again. When he finished, he glanced down at Kot, who was destroying one of his – hopefully – old socks. "Come on, Kot. We've got a Jedi to find."

At his words, the anooba pup peered up at him, shredded sock dangling from his tusks, before snarling once and shaking the fabric with all his might. But the moment Milo slipped out of his room, Kot abandoned the sock and trotted after him, and they made their way through the RC's corridors together.

Dinner had been hours ago. The third shift was starting up, but even so, the place was pretty quiet. Milo greeted a few of the clones and staff he knew by name and nodded to those he didn't, but his mind was on another world, entirely.

He found her in the room that held the bacta tanks. All were full right now, but she'd pulled up a cushy chair and sat beside the tank at the farthest spot in the room, reading a datapad. Aside from the men floating in bacta and the Jedi, the room was empty.

At Milo's approach, Kali glanced up. She was smiling, but the expression faded once she caught wind of his agitation and she stood. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. But you might want to sit back down." She tilted her head at him in question but sat. Kot immediately jumped into her lap and began licking her chin, so Milo grabbed him and set him on the floor. "Sorry about that. He likes to give kisses."

"He certainly does." Kali swiped her mouth with the back of her hand, but her expression was still curious. "What's going on, Mi?"

Milo took a deep breath and handed over the piece of flimsi that had arrived with the daily mail. "Here."

Brow furrowed, Kali accepted the letter and swept her eyes across it before sucking in her breath. "You did it," she said, beaming up at him. "You got in!"

"Thanks to you."

She opened her mouth to protest but he shook his head. "I know I already thanked you, but I also know it was your letter that made the difference. There's no _way_ they liked my answers on that _shabla_ questionnaire."

She studied the letter again, but her gaze was distant. "This says you're to report to Antar Four in three weeks' time. Wasn't there a battle there?"

He'd had the same thought. "Yep. A pretty bad one, from the looks of it; the Ranger base was destroyed. But I think they're rebuilding."

Nodding, she tucked the letter under her elbow and regarded him. "Are you ready?"

_Yes,_ he wanted to say, but it would be a lie. Instead of answering immediately, Milo studied the closest bacta tank, where Stonewall floated silently. "How's he doing?"

"Very well," Kali said. "Weave says everything looks normal, and he should be out in the morning." There was wonder in her voice; he recognized it, among the other things she did not say. "You'll have time to go through the treatment, then," she added after a beat.

"Yeah."

Kot's nails clicked on the tiled floor as he investigated the perimeter. Milo knelt and called to him, and the pup trotted over, ears flopping with each step. He was getting bigger every day, but he was still so small. Would he be able to handle the rigors of Ranger training? How would Milo look after him?

The touch of her hand on his shoulder startled him, though her voice was calm. "Do you still want to go? You don't have to if you've changed your mind."

"I'll miss all of you, but I _do_ want to go. It's just..." He sighed and hugged Kot to his chest. "My life will never be like it was."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"No." He pretended to examine Kot's nails, then met her dark eyes. "What if I fail?"

Kali gave him a warm look; it was not quite a smile, but it was reassuring, nonetheless. "Then you fail." His stomach sank, but she continued. "And you figure out why, and you move forward. That's the most important part," she added, leaning back in her chair.

"The moving forward part?"

She nodded. "It's easy to forget that, especially when you're standing at the beginning of something like this. Something that will challenge you. But for what it's worth," she added, smiling at him in earnest. "I think you'll make one hell of a Ranger. I think you'll set a new standard for all of them."

His ears got hot and he shrugged. "I just don't want to eff anything up too badly, you know?"

"I know." She studied him again; there was an _otherness_ to her gaze now, one he did not quite understand. Rarely did he think of her as a _Jedi,_ but moments like these reminded him. "I'll miss you, too," she said at last. "As will Stone."

"It'll just be the two of you in a bit," he said, straightening, though he did not set Kot back on the floor. "Once Weave and General Tallis start disseminating the cure, and Trax and Ares get their bounty hunter gig going."

"Three of us," she corrected, one hand resting on her stomach.

"Right." Kot squirmed in his arms, and Milo chuckled. "I hope I can come back to see the _adi'ka_ soon after he's born."

"I do, too."

The room was so quiet; even the bubbling tanks and the beep of monitors hardly registered. Milo rubbed Kot's ears. Late though it was, he was too keyed-up to even think about sleeping. There were a few comm-codes burning holes in his pocket, but Kali didn't need to know that. "I guess I'll get going."

"Have a nice night, Mi." It would have been a totally innocent phrase had she not winked at him, and he flushed.

"You, too. Will you tell him when he wakes up?"

"Sure."

He turned to leave, but found himself glancing back her way. "Thank you," he said quietly. "For...well, everything. That letter..."

Kriff, he couldn't think of it without tearing up, nor could he finish the thought.

Kali met his eyes. "Do you know what you've done for us, Milo? Do you understand the difference you made?"

His throat tightened, so he held Kot's warm body a little closer. "I just wanted to help."

"I know." Her voice softened. "Sweet Force, do I know."

* * *

_The next day..._

Stonewall's eyes fluttered open. Kali leaned closer, so that the first thing he saw would be something he loved.

"Now, _that's_ a nice way to wake up," he murmured, eyes fixed down her tunic, which she'd deliberately left open. Thanks to the pregnancy, things were a bit more _ample_ in that area than normal; why not take advantage while she could?

Smiling, Kali tilted her lips to his. "I thought it'd be nicer than a simple 'good morning.'"

A hand crept to her back to pull her closer, gently, and his kiss was deep. When they parted, Stonewall met her eyes. "That's even better. Is there more coming?"

Kali winked at him and settled back against the pillows of their bed, where she'd asked the techs to bring him after he'd left the bacta tank. "Soon. First, how do you feel?"

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The Force around him seemed to tighten as he evaluated himself, then nodded once. "Alright. A little sore. How did it go?"

Weave had shown her the tests, but it was almost impossible to believe. Heat pricked at her eyes as she replied. "Perfectly."

His eyes widened. "So...?"

"Yes." She took his hand in both of hers.

"Holy kriffing hell..." Stonewall stared at her before wrapping his free arm around her to pull her closer. "Our whole lives," he murmured into her hair. "And his, too. I can hardly believe it."

She could not answer at first, only press her face to him and cry. _Kriffing hormones!_ When she managed to speak again, she lifted her gaze to his. "I've been thinking..."

"Scary thought," he said, swiping away her tears. When she gave him a mock glare, he chuckled, though his next words were serious. "What about?"

"His name."

Stonewall's hand stilled on her cheek and he regarded her intently, waiting. Something twisted in Kali's stomach – nerves, she thought, though that was foolish. There was nothing to be nervous about. "I know we were thinking either 'Jonas' or 'Drake,'" she said at last. "But last night...I had another idea. Though, I don't know if you'll like it, let alone what the guys will think."

"Kali." His voice was steady, his hand warm upon her skin as it slid from her cheek to her back.

Nodding, she took a deep breath, and told him what, and why. He did not react as she'd expected. Kriff, he didn't even look surprised; he only studied her with those honey-brown eyes and considered. Until he nodded once. "I like it."

"Really?"

"Yeah." He smiled at her while his Force-presence seemed to glitter in response. "I _really_ like it."

"But do you think _they'll_ like it? I don't want any of them to feel...left out."

"They won't."

Kali sighed. Men, clones or not, were all the same. Surely this wasn't so _simple_. "Are you certain?"

Stonewall shrugged. "Pretty sure. And if they don't...well, they'll get over it." She gaped at him, but he winked to show he was teasing. "Come on, Kali," he said at last, shaking his head. "You know them as well as I do. You know they'll be okay with it."

"But I'm not a clone. My perspective will never be like yours, or any of theirs. Names are...sacred to you guys."

"True," he said with a nod. "But that also means they'll know how seriously we'll take something like this, and that we won''t make this choice lightly." He pressed his hand to the small of her back to draw her closer. "I think they'll see it as an honor, and nothing more."

She leaned into him, savoring how solid he was, how warm. "You're sure?"

"Absolutely." He kissed her forehead, then trailed down to her lips. "Now," he murmured against her mouth, "let's get back to this 'good morning' business."

"Definitely," she agreed. "Must make sure everything's fully operational."

"One-hundred percent." He leaned closer to kiss her again. "Let me show you."

* * *

_Three weeks later..._

Milo latched his travel pack closed and glanced around his room at the RC. Other than his armor and rifle case, he didn't have much in the way of possessions.

_So I guess I'm...ready?_ Didn't feel like it. Surely there was something he was forgetting, some critical piece of the puzzle of his life that was missing now, to be discovered later, at the worst possible moment.

But no. Over the last three weeks, he'd made a list and checked it again and again, and he'd holed himself in his room for the better part of the last hour to pack – and mentally prepare. Strange to think that, aside from his rifle, the whole of his life fit into a single rucksack. Spare clothes. Spare ammo. Ration packs. Medkits. His personal datapad and comlink. And a good portion of his pack held food for Kot.

Speaking of... Milo glanced around again, but he was alone. Kriff. Where was the little scamp? "Kot," he called, kneeling to check beneath his bunk. "Kot?"

Nothing. Not so much as a squeak. Milo sighed and headed for the door. _He'd better not have gotten into the cafeteria pantry again..._

It was dinnertime, but the halls were strangely quiet. Only a few staffers seemed to be on duty, and none of them gave him more than a passing glance. Weird. But the RC had gotten quite a few new faces in the last couple of weeks, and he didn't know everyone, though he'd heard that Tejaal had transferred back to the main medcenter. Hopefully she was happy, but he was not above feeling some relief when he'd heard the news.

He paused by the lounge; Kot had discovered that he could get ear scratches and tummy rubs if he lingered around folks who were relaxing. But the lounge was empty. _Really_ kriffing weird. Usually there were at least one or two clones arguing over bolo-ball scores. Milo frowned and glanced around the empty corridors.

Where the fek _was_ everyone?

As he walked, something curled in his gut, almost like what he'd felt the night of Order Sixty-Six, when Stonewall had inadvertently called them all together. Not nerves, exactly, but it was akin to instinct and held traces of compulsion. He paused before the cafeteria doors and listened.

Within, anooba pup nails clicked against a tiled floor, and he sighed. At least he'd solved _one_ mystery, though it was fardling strange that he couldn't hear talking, laughing, or any of the other sounds that usually accompanied dinnertime. Warily, Milo activated the door panel, which slid open to reveal...

Darkness.

His stomach dropped even as he slid into a ready stance. _What the fek–_

Then the lights flipped on and he was greeted by several dozen clones, RC staffers, one coral-skinned Twi'lek, and three distinctive female Jedi. And Kot, wriggling in Kali's arms like she'd just picked him up. Save Kot, everyone shouted in unison. "Surprise!"

Still half-crouched, Milo gaped at the RC's mess hall. The usual rows of tables and chairs had been pushed to the sides and covered with enough food to feed an army. Above the heads of those assembled, a rainbow of flimsy streamers had been stretched across the room, framing a banner that read, in bright, bold letters: K'OYACYI, MILO!

Applause broke out, and slowly, he straightened. He didn't know what to think, let alone say, so he just continued to stare as his _vode_ bounded over, the others swift on their heels. He was swept into a fierce embrace as his _vode_ surrounded him. For a few minutes he was inundated with other clones all talking at once, then he managed to pull back and regard his squad-mates individually. "Weave? Trax? _Crest_? What are you guys doing back here? Stonewall? What's going on?"

Crest wore a set of civilian clothes of Arunai make, and his grin was huge. "You didn't think we'd let you go off into the wild blue yonder without giving you a proper send-off, did you?"

"But...you've got meetings and–"

His bald brother cut him off with a dismissive noise. "All of _that_ can wait for a little while. Today's for you, Mi."

Milo shook his head, still too stunned to do anything more. He looked at Weave, still in his same, battered medic's kit, wearing a quietly pleased expression. "You only just left to start passing out the cure."

Weave's had been a quiet leave-taking, though not a permanent one, from what Milo understood. Weave had estimated it would take him and General Tallis about six months to see that the cure was disseminated among the clone ranks, which would involve training other medics to use the nanos. But still; Milo hadn't known when he'd see his medic- _vod_ again.

"I came back, Mi." Weave gave him a wink. "Had to make sure you still weren't feeling any ill effects from the nanos."

Milo looked at Traxis. His scarred brother still wore clone kit, though it'd been painted in shades of bronze and green, with a small, stylized raven on his shoulder-bell. At Milo's regard, Traxis rolled his eyes and grabbed Milo in a mock choke-hold, ruffling his hair before releasing him. "I'm going to miss the hell out of you, Mi," Trax said. "But in the meantime, I thought we should all get tanked together, one more time."

"But not the _last_ time," Crest broke in with a slap against Milo's shoulder.

"Though, there's no telling when we'll get the chance again," Weave added.

Stonewall stood beside Trax, but before Milo could say anything to him, he was swamped by the rest of the clones. Men from the RC, including the former Dregs clones, grabbed his arm and patted his shoulder and wished him "good luck" and "come back in one piece." _K'oyacyi_.

Zero, in particular, gave him a strong one-armed hug and murmured, "Sorry I was such a jerk," in his ear. But clones were nothing if not efficient. Once they said what they needed to say, the waiting food was thoroughly ambushed.

When a good portion of the clones had cleared out, Milo found himself looking at yet another familiar face. "Lev!" Grinning, he swept the younger clone into a hug. "How'd you make it all the way out here?"

"We've been assigned to assist General Tallis and Sergeant Weave," Levy said, indicating a group of four, cadet-aged clones who stood beside him. "My squad and me," he added. "Risky, Keo, Finn, and CC-6014."

Milo nodded to the kids and – because he thought it would amuse them – snapped off a quick salute. The kids returned the gesture in kind before barreling off to the buffet, though Levy lingered. "You're really going to become a Ranger?"

"Hopefully," Milo said.

"I've read about them. It sounds...kind of great, actually."

Milo smiled at him. "Yeah, it does. If you want, I can keep you posted on how everything works out."

Levy nodded, then ducked off to join his brothers. The older clones watched him go before looking back at one another. "They grow up so fast, don't they?" Crest said.

Traxis rolled his eyes, but Weave chuckled. "Not anymore, they don't."

"Thanks to you," Traxis said.

"And General Tallis," Crest added knowingly.

Weave flushed and glanced a few meters away, where Kali, General Tallis and Zara were chatting with Ares and the white-haired former queen. Kot was still in Kali's arms, though he was squirming, eyes fixed on Milo.

At that moment, Kali glanced his way; seeing that the throng had fled, she lifted her brows and indicated Kot with a tilt of her chin. Milo nodded as well, and crouched to greet the anooba pup that was suddenly set free, bolting toward him. Kot whined and wriggled, and got a few good licks in before Milo managed to maneuver his snout away, though he still held the pup.

Already, Kot was bigger; it probably wouldn't be long until he was too big to carry. He was still a baby, but he was strong, and growing more so each day.

_He'll be okay,_ Milo thought, hugging him closer. _And maybe I will, too._

* * *

_Later..._

Milo flushed as his _vode_ and their lovers raised their glasses – again. "To Milo," Crest said, grinning at him. "The least shiny shiny I've ever known."

"You'll always be 'Sparkles' to us, though," Weave added calmly, sipping his ale. Crest, Trax and Stonewall nearly choked on their drinks with laughter. The other clones had gone to bed, so the cafeteria was quieter now than it'd been hours ago when the party had started, and their guffaws echoed through the otherwise empty room.

Milo rolled his eyes. "Please, _any_ nickname but that one!"

Ares glanced between the clones curiously. "What is...?"

Thumping his own chest to stave off a coughing fit, Traxis shook his head. "Inside joke. I'll explain later."

General Tallis lifted a brow at Weave, who, to Milo's amusement, winked at her even as he took another sip of ale. Sita exchanged a look with Crest, who leaned over to whisper in her ear, no doubt regaling her with the embarrassing story of _that_ particular mission.

Sighing, Milo looked over at Stonewall and Kali, both of whom sat opposite him on the table. "I'll never live that down."

Kali laughed. "Then you should learn to embrace it."

"Maybe," he said. "At least none of the Rangers will know that nickname. I'll just be 'Milo' to them." Something stirred between his feet. Kot had fallen asleep about an hour ago, belly swollen after an incident involving an unguarded plate of sliders.

When he glanced back up, Kali and Stonewall were exchanging one of those looks that meant they were communicating through the Force. Something about their expressions gave him pause, so he leaned forward. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Stonewall replied, sipping his ale.

Kali toyed with the end of her braid. "Well...there _is_ something we wanted to talk to you about," she said at last. "All of you."

She glanced around the table, to the others, all of whom quieted and regarded her. A small knot tightened in Milo's gut, but he kept his voice steady. "What is it?"

"Yeah, fill us in, Boss," Crest added.

Kali ignored the teasing in his tone, which immediately set Milo on alert, though Stonewall didn't look troubled in the least. But _she_ was fidgeting something awful. Kriff, what could get a Jedi so twisted up?

At last she met his eyes. "Stonewall and I have decided on a name for our son."

"That's wonderful," Sita said, smiling. The others chorused in agreement, but Kali still seemed nervous as she looked at Milo.

Weird. What the _shab_ was going on? "What did you choose?" he asked.

Again, Kali and Stonewall exchanged looks, though it was brief. Stonewall smiled at her and nodded, and she took a deep breath. "Milo."

"Yeah?" he asked.

The dark-haired Jedi shook her head, then placed both hands on the growing swell of her belly " _Milo._ "

Silence dominated the room. Mouths hung open. A strange sort of numbness flooded Milo's body as he stared at his Jedi- _vod_ , still not believing what he'd heard. He tried to say something, but it was like being back on Kamino; there were too many words trying to come out, so nothing could.

It was Traxis who broke the silence. "You're naming your kid 'Milo?'"

Stonewall nodded.

Traxis' brows knit and he glanced at Crest, who sipped his ale slowly. Weave's expression was thoughtful as well. All Milo was capable of was staring at Kali's belly, trying desperately to wrap his mind around her words.

Kali's eyes darted from him to the other clones, and when she spoke next, her words came quickly. "Please don't be offended, guys. We don't mean to upset any of you. It's just that Milo... I mean, Stonewall's memories... Without them, without _him..._ "

She broke off, swiping at her eyes. Stonewall placed an arm around her shoulders and held her close, though he picked up where she'd stopped. "Kali and I love all of you, _vode,_ " he said quietly. "I think – I hope – you know that. But we also wanted to honor what you did for us, Milo. For our son." He took a deep breath and met Milo's eyes. "We wanted to thank you. Somehow."

"And the name just fits," Kali added, sniffing. "The others we thought of didn't...feel as right." Her eyes were wet and her nose was red, and there was nothing but hope in her expression as she studied Milo. "Is it okay?"

"Is it...?" He trailed off, shaking his head. Her face fell and he realized his error, so he sat up straight and tried not to cry in public. "Yes, it's okay. Kriff, I can't begin to..."

Nope. He was totally going to bawl. Kriffing hell; this was _not_ how he'd imagined it'd feel after he joined the Rangers.

But his _vode_ had his six. Weave spoke first. "Naming your son after a brother is a tremendous honor. And Mi's name is more suited to a non-clone than any of ours."

"We'll have to call the little one _Mi'ka,_ though," Crest added thoughtfully. "Otherwise it'll get confusing when they're both around." The others laughed; even Milo managed a chuckle, though he was still working hard to find his composure.

Traxis smiled. It was such a rare expression; it changed his face more so than it seemed to for any other clone Milo had met. "It's a good name, _vode_ ," he said to Stonewall and Kali. "Though, the kid will have some pretty big shoes to fill."

Kali nodded, but she was still studying Milo. "You're _sure_ you're okay with it?" She looked around the table at the others. "All of you, I mean. We don't want to hurt anyone's feelings."

Traxis, Crest and Weave exchanged glances before Crest, naturally, spoke for them. "We're all okay with it, Kali."

She was still crying, but managed to give a relieved smile. "Thank you."

The others broke into excited chatter. Stonewall kissed her forehead, and only because he was so close did Milo hear what his brother said. "You see?"

Kali sighed and leaned into him. "Yes. You were right."

"I know." Stonewall placed a hand on her stomach. "You hear that, _Mi'ka_? Your dad's right. Probably the one and only time that'll ever happen, so you should remember it."

"Oh, hush," Kali said with a mock-glare up at her husband, though her eyes were soft.

They were surrounded by others, but still somehow in their own world. Though Stonewall's memories had long since been returned to their owner, their remnants lingered in the back of Milo's mind – and heart. Still working for his composure, Milo sipped his ale. Would he ever know love like that?

_Shab_ , he hoped so.

When Traxis nudged his arm to rouse him from his trance, it was no difficulty to smile and joke with his _vode._ If their lives were anything by which to measure his own, there was a chance he'd find what he sought, one day.

But in the meantime, he had a new path to tread.

* * *

Early the next morning, only a few hours later, really, Stonewall approached the solitary figure waiting in the RC's courtyard. He took no pains to keep his steps silent. Kot noticed him first, getting to his feet, tail wagging; a moment later, Milo turned to regard him, head tilting in inquiry.

"Is everything okay?"

Stonewall nodded and stood next to his _vod,_ lifting his hand to scan the pale sky. "I thought I'd see you off."

"You only just went to bed."

"So did you."

Milo considered, then gave a weary chuckle. "Yeah. All those 'goodbyes' ran kinda late, I guess."

"They would have kept going," Stonewall replied, smiling at the memories. "You could have had the whole crew waiting with you right now."

"Yeah. But..." Milo sighed and shifted his pack. "Like I said before, I need to do this on my own. Don't leave, though," he added quickly. "Not yet."

"Nervous?"

The younger clone was silent. Kitted up, with his pack sitting by at his boots, braced in modified parade-rest, Mi was the picture of an ideal soldier. Then he spoke. "Yeah."

One word, quietly given. Like trust. Stonewall met Milo's eyes; a young man, a wise man, looked back at him. "You'll do fine."

"You think so?"

"I know so."

Milo looked at the sky again. "You don't have to thank me. I mean, I'm honored, but you don't owe me anything. You know that, right?"

"I do," Stonewall said. "And so does she. But we wanted to, anyway."

Neither spoke for a few minutes as the sky lightened. The morning was overcast; the rising sun tinted the cloud cover in shades of pink and pale gold, and the air was cool. Autumn would be here soon.

At last, a distinctive buzzing noise took shape above their heads, and the two men looked up in unison, searching for the shuttle. It appeared a moment later: a triangular vessel that cut through the clouds, making for the RC's landing area.

As it descended, Milo hefted his pack and looked at Stonewall. "I'm truly honored, _vod._ I'll make sure he's proud of that name."

Stonewall placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. "You already have, Mi. You've done everything you ever could for him, and for us. But now you've got your own life to live."

The ship's hydraulics whined as it settled onto the permacrete; it was not a new ship, but looked like it'd been taken care of. A now-familiar emblem of swirling vines, twined around the traditional Jedi Order insignia, had been painted onto the side, though the paint was scratched and faded in places. Slowly, the loading ramp began to descend.

Nervousness plucked at Milo's Force-presence, though he worked to control it. He called to Kot in Mando'a; the pup rose to stand by his side. Milo's hand tightened over the straps of his pack, but he didn't step forward.

Instead, he looked at Stonewall once more. "I wish I could thank you, too."

This was unexpected. "Thank me? What for?"

"Because of what I learned from you. And her. Because now...I kind of understand it all. At least a little, though that's still more than I ever did."

"Understand what?"

Milo took a deep breath; the nervousness in his Force-presence faded, merging into a bright, almost sparkling sort of hope and possibility. His eyes were those of a man much older. "Love."

Stonewall squeezed Mi's shoulder. "I hope you learn more."

Nodding, Milo snapped off a sharp salute that made Stonewall smile, then glanced at the anooba pup. " _Oya_ , Kot. Let's go."

" _K'oyacyi,"_ Stonewall said.

"See you later, _vod."_ Milo grinned at him, then trotted for the loading ramp, Kot at his heels. They both disappeared within.

Moments later, the ship was aloft, aiming for the clouds. Stonewall remained until he could see it no more.

* * *

A/N: Totally _not_ crying right now...

The "Sparkles" comment is a nod to a chapter of the _Misadventures of Shadow Squad_ vignette collection, which doesn't really fit anywhere in my canon, but sure was fun to write.

Only two more chapters to go! Thanks for reading. :)


	70. Chapter Sixty-Nine

Lyrics: ["Destiny," by Zero 7, from _Simple Things._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=INn1C6ImJKg)

* * *

**Chapter Sixty-Nine**

_When I'm weak, I draw strength from you,_

_And when you're lost, I know how to change your mood,_

_And when I'm down, you breathe life over me._

_Even though we're miles apart, we are each other's destiny._

Rudral sang at dusk. The chirrup of aphrens melted into the brush of wind through the RC's garden trees, and though the air was cool, it held traces of summer sweetness. Autumn encroached, but not for a little while, and it was still pleasant outside. Seated on the grass, Stonewall leaned against a shadderjee tree and watched his Jedi wife.

Kali stood in the center of the little clearing they'd found, still as his namesake, poised to strike some invisible enemy. A saber hummed in each hand; the blue and yellow blades added their songs to that of the dusk, and their glow was the brightest to Stonewall's eyes.

But the Force always told a different story.

The Jedi moved before he caught her intention. She dove forward, ducking low as if to avoid a swipe above her head, then straightened, both sabers swinging. Blue and yellow blades merged to a blur as she whirled, leveling stroke after stroke against her unseen foe, faster than Stonewall's eyes could register. But he didn't need his eyes to see her when he had the Force. Within that wild dance of energy, Kali's spirit shone like a beacon in the darkness, pulling his attention, his focus. His love. She was a moon; he the tide. It had always been this way.

When she paused, it took him a moment to orient himself to the lack of whirling blue and yellow lights as he rose and crossed the clearing to her side. He hardly knew what to say. He'd never seen her fight like that.

Well, one time. But he refused to think of _that_ night any longer. "That was incredible."

She startled him with a laugh. "It wasn't bad. Ben could have taken me down in a few moves, but I held my own against the empty air."

"Well, I'm no expert and I'm completely biased, but you've improved tremendously."

Kali deactivated the sabers and clipped them to her belt, tucked beneath the growing swell of her stomach. "Thanks. Using a properly-sized saber also helps. I think I'll stick with the one I built as a Padawan. Even though," she skimmed her hands over the simple, chrome hilt of her father's weapon, "I'll miss the yellow blade."

"It suited you."

Perhaps she thought he'd say something more, for her Force-presence rippled with faint agitation, though she did not regard him, and spoke a moment later. "I wish I'd gotten the prosthetic sooner. It's made such a difference."

"How is the knee?"

"There's a little twinge when I turn too quickly or at too harsh of an angle, but other than that, it's perfect." She smiled up at him and placed one hand over her stomach. "Milo loves _katas._ Can you feel how excited he is?"

Stonewall rested his palm on her stomach as well; he didn't need to touch her to sense his son, but it made him feel closer, somehow. Indeed, _Mi'ka's_ Force-presence was fairly sparkling with delight and eagerness, as if he was begging for _more._

So Stonewall smiled at his wife and smoothed back a strand of hair that had come undone from her braid. "He's going to be a Jedi."

"Only if he wants to be," she said, shaking her head.

"Right. But he's going to be a Jedi." When she rolled her eyes, Stonewall smiled again. "I know it."

"How?"

Rather than answer, he kissed her. It seemed like the better option. He held her close as the aphrens called to one another, and wrapped his arms around her body, the body that was growing his son. Their son. It was almost impossible to believe. When they parted, he pressed his forehead to hers. "Do you know, there was no wonder in my world, until you came along?"

She searched his eyes even as he felt her Force-presence wrap around his own. "I don't believe that. You're pretty wondrous, yourself."

"Not really." He skimmed his palms down her hips; the fingers of his right hand brushed the larger of her sabers, and without thinking, he snatched his hand away.

Kali glanced at his hand, then back at his face. "If I ask you again...?"

The saber hilt was still warm from her grip. He glanced at the simple design; how well it had fit into his hand. How natural it had been to wield. How easy it would have been to destroy everything he loved.

What sweetness there had been in the air evaporated, and he was suddenly chilled to the core. He pulled away from Kali and nodded to the garden's entrance. "It's getting dark. We should head inside."

"Stone–"

He took a sharp, short breath. "The answer will be the same. I can't any more, Kali. I'm sorry."

"Can't? Or won't?"

 _Shab._ Why wouldn't she just drop it? He tightened his hands into fists and worked to keep his voice steady. "Both. You know that. We've been over it a hundred times."

"Then let's go for a hundred and one."

"No." He met her eyes and ensured his words would land. "I want _nothing_ to do with any weapon, Kali. Not now. Not ever. You need to let this go."

There was a sharp edge to his voice, one that cut; her eyes widened briefly before her chin dropped and she nodded once, looking away from him into the night. Where her Force-awareness had twined with his, now it drew away, and he felt the loss as a physical thing.

 _Fek. I'm such a kark._ "Kali..."

"It's fine, Stone," she said with a shrug that he didn't believe. "I heard you. I won't bring it up again."

More than anything else, the disappointment in her voice stung. "That's not–"

A merry, chirruping sound broke into what he was about to say, and Stonewall fought back a scowl as she reached for her comlink. "It's Altis," she said as she activated the transmission. "Djinn?"

"Kali." The Jedi Master's voice was warm. "Am I interrupting anything vital?"

She glanced at Stonewall and shook her head, even though the transmission was voice-only. "Nothing that can't wait. What do you need?"

"Mostly just to check in. How is the rehabilitation center?"

"Thriving. All of the clones that come through here are treated with the nanogene droids, and we've been able to put quite a few into work programs."

They discussed the specifics for a few minutes, though Stonewall's attention kept drifting to the sabers at his wife's belt. One, in particular, called to him. But no. He could not pick up a weapon again, and he certainly wasn't fit to carry _that_ saber; Kali's father had built it with his own hands, and it'd served her for over two decades. It wasn't for a _shabuir_ like him; a man who'd tried to kill the person he loved most.

Kali's voice drew him out of his reverie. "...track down Palpatine. Apparently it's going to be quite the manhunt." She took a deep breath. "The Jedi Order has requested your – our – assistance."

"I thought they might." Altis was silent a moment, and Stonewall got the notion the Jedi Master was stroking his beard in contemplation. "Of course, I want to help," he said at last. "Palpatine is a grave threat to the galaxy, and must be found as soon as possible. Who knows what trouble he'll stir up if he's left to his own devices for too long?"

She shot Stonewall a quick smile, which heartened him like nothing else. Kriff; he was completely whipped, wasn't he? Ah, well. There were worse things. "I'm so glad to hear that, Djinn," Kali said, looking back at her comlink. "I'll pass this information along to the Council."

"So, you are on speaking terms with them, I take it?"

Kali chuckled. "At least one of them. I doubt Mace will ever want to talk to me again, but Obi-Wan is willing."

"I am glad to hear that," Altis replied. "For many reasons. It's good to know that you still have," he paused, "ties with the more traditional side of the Order."

Something in his words made Kali's brows knit; she cast Stonewall a curious look, but he only shrugged. "I'd hoped that would be the case," she said carefully. "I've known Obi-Wan my entire life; I didn't think he'd shun me."

Altis was silent a beat, then cleared his throat. "Would you be open to the possibility of working with them in the future? Beyond the search for Palpatine, I mean."

What the kriff was he getting at? Kali must have had the same thought, for she frowned. "Of course."

"Ah. Good. It's just an idea I've had..." Altis paused again. "Nothing could come of it, I suppose, but I have dreams of merging my little group with Yoda's bunch. One day. Probably quite far in the future – if at all."

She shook her head, but again, her voice was calm. "That would be ideal, but I'm not certain they'd be willing."

"Oh, it wouldn't be for many years, yet," Altis said quickly. "If, as I said, it ever _did_ happen. But I like to think we could all work together, particularly if Yoda's Order dealt with a Jedi they were more familiar with rather than an old heretic like me." He paused again. "Someone like you."

Now, Kali gaped at the comlink in her grip, and shot another look at Stonewall. Through the Force, he felt her shock reverberate in his own awareness. _What the fek?_

 _I don't know, either,_ he replied.

"Djinn," she managed. "Are you suggesting...?"

She trailed off. Altis waited a moment, then exhaled; the comm amplified the sound, adding a rasp of static. "Yes, Kali. That's exactly what I'm suggesting. I'm an idealist in many regards, but I like to think I have moments of pragmatism. You're not like my other students. You don't need a teacher any longer; you need, if I may be presumptuous, direction. A path to follow. A," he paused again, "place to go. Am I wildly off the mark?"

"I..." She glanced around, then leaned into Stonewall's chest, transferring some of her weight to him. He wrapped his arms around her without hesitation. Kali took a deep breath before speaking again. "You're not wrong, Djinn. I would like to be of use to you, and no, I don't know that I need a teacher. Although," her eyes flickered up to Stonewall's, "I'm always willing to learn something new."

Perhaps the words could have been a barb, a callback to their earlier argument, but there was no anger in her gaze, and as she relaxed in his arms, her Force-presence opened to him again. There were still a few rough edges – his fault, no doubt – but mostly she was...well. Shocked. The emotion appeared like streaks of light through her aura.

Stonewall wasn't surprised, though. She could do anything she put her mind to. She was a marvel, that way. "You want Kali to liaison with the Jedi Order?"

"Stonewall. I didn't realize you were there, though I suppose I should have." Altis chuckled. "Yes, in a sense. Though, a liaison would be a small part of the task I would set upon your wife."

Kali and Stonewall exchanged glances before she cleared her throat. "What's the assignment?"

"There is a planet in the Outer Rim," the Jedi Master began. "A small, uninhabited world that was...discovered some time ago. I've had several teams investigate it over the years. It's quite strong with the Force, but rather remote."

Kali frowned. "Is that why no one has settled there?"

"No," Altis said. "No, there was some...Force-related trouble, but it's been cleared out by now. The planet is secure. Quite beautiful, too. In fact, I think it would be a lovely place to set up another enclave. My ship, the _Chu'unthor_ , is getting rather crowded, these days, and I thought...if your family is expanding, anyway, you and Stonewall might want to consider relocating."

"To this...what's the place called?" Stonewall asked. "And what exactly do you mean by 'Force-related trouble?'"

"The planet is called Mundali," Altis replied. "And I will send you the reports on the exorcisms."

Stonewall frowned. _Exorcisms_? Now _that_ would need more clarification.

"It's quite safe, now," Altis continued. "I think, with a little time and energy, it could be a thriving community. And I think you, Kali, would be the best person to oversee it."

She froze in Stonewall's arms. "Oversee...? _Me_? I don't know the first thing about running an enclave."

"And the rehabilitation center is...?"

"Different," she said, shaking her head. "And I don't run it, exactly. I just helped get it going."

"Which is exactly what I'd need you to do on Mundali,"Altis replied. "At least think it over. I'll send you what information I have, and let you and Stonewall decide. And," he added quickly, "I would not ask you to move until after your child is born, unless you would like to. There is time, yet. For us all. What do you say?"

Kali leaned her forehead into Stonewall's chest. He held her close and murmured in her ear, "Whatever you want to do, I'm with you."

Her head lifted and she met his eyes. Within hers was fear, but he knew her too well to think that was all. He knew determination when it looked back at him. "Okay," she said into her comlink. "I'll think about it."

Altis thanked her, and after a few more brief exchanges, the conversation ended. Stonewall did not know what to say; the conversation had been overwhelming and strange, but not...unpleasant. He looked down at Kali and opened himself fully to her through the Force, hoping she'd sense his feelings without him having to give them voice.

Indeed, she met his eyes and allowed her awareness to brush his. "It's crazy," she whispered though the buzz of aphrens. "Isn't it?"

"No," he said, touching her cheek.

"I don't know if I can do it."

"You can do anything."

She exhaled in a huff and pouted at him. "Stop being so encouraging. I'm starting to panic."

Chuckling, he kissed her forehead. "Deep breaths. Inhale..."

"Stone–"

"Exhale," he finished.

"You're incorrigible."

"Very much so." He studied her as best he could through the incoming night. "Let's not make a decision now. Let's just...mull it over."

"Mull it over." She sighed again, then, to his delight, winked at him. "But the best decisions with us are _always_ rushed. Or inspired by whiskey. Or both."

Heartened, he smiled at her. "Agreed. But you already know what you're going to do. You just have to accept it."

Kali studied him a long moment before rolling her eyes. "You know me too well."

"Wouldn't have it any other way." He put his hand at her waist and indicated the path out of the garden. "Ready to call it a night?"

"No," she said, though she let him guide her. "But I'm ready to do something else."

* * *

It took Kali the better part of a week to decide her answer to Altis. In that time, she tried to be as rational about the whole thing as possible. She read through the information that he sent, mapped Mundali on the star-charts, made lists of reasons why they should, and shouldn't.

But Stone had been right. Her mind had been made up from that first moment. She simply had to understand it was so.

Understanding came from an unexpected source.

It was midday when her comlink chirruped. She was in a meeting with Upala and the RC's administrator; at the device's chime, Kali cast a surreptitious look at the transmission's source.

_Kriffing hell. It's Mace._

Thankfully there was a lull in the conversation, so she excused herself from the administrator's office and slipped into the corridor. The Force was still with her, for it was quiet here, and there was no one to see how she took a few deep breaths to gather her composure before answering.

"Kalinda Halcyon, here."

There was a pause before he replied, and then, it was in his most formal voice. "Good afternoon, Kalinda. I apologize for the short notice, but I have arrived at Rudral, and would like to meet with you. Are you available?"

At first she only stared at the comlink as only a small fraction of his words echoed in her brain. _Arrived... Meet with you... Available..._

"Kalinda?"

"Yes," she said quickly. Too quickly. _Calm the fek down. He's not your Master any longer. You're not even in the_ crinking _Order! He can't reprimand you._ She took another calming breath. "Yes, Mace. I can meet you immediately. Where are you?"

Upala would understand; they were almost finished, anyway. Stonewall had taken some of the other clones on a training exercise in the city's outskirts; when she reached her awareness out to his, she found him wholly absorbed in his task and decided to let him be.

"Very good." Mace said. "I am," he paused, and she got the impression he was looking around, "in the living quarters of the rehabilitation center. Where are you staying?"

"Um..." Kriff, this day was speeding right along, wasn't it? Kali debated, then began to hurry toward her and Stonewall's suite of rooms. "How about I meet you there?"

"I need the exact location of your quarters."

Mace may not have been her Master any longer, but fek if that sharp tone didn't still make her cringe. Biting back a sigh, Kali gave him directions and promised to meet him there as soon as she could. Once their conversation had ended, she sent a quick, apologetic message to Upala before tearing down the hallways as fast as her growing stomach would allow. Thankfully, the Force aided her movements.

She reached her and Stone's quarters in record time, though she paused outside the door to smooth out her tunic and braid, and gather what she could of her calm. She'd long ago discarded the traditional Jedi robes for Arunai clothing, which was far more comfortable in her current state, but no doubt Mace would find her attire displeasing.

Well, there was nothing she could do about any of that now, so she took a deep breath and slipped into her quarters.

Everything was as she'd left it this morning. Thank the Force there were no dirty clothes discarded in the common area, though she'd left out her tea mug from last night, along with a few datapads. The bedroom door was shut – thankfully – but the nursery's was open, and the light was on.

Mace was nowhere to be found.

Curious, Kali stepped to the center of the common area. "Mace?"

"In here." He was in the nursery. Her stomach flipped but she made her way over.

The Jedi Master stood just inside the doorway, arms crossed before his chest in his usual imposing manner, back stiff, body straight. He did not look at her when she entered, only continued regarding the crib that had been tucked against the nursery wall.

Wait. The crib? Since when had they gotten a crib? Kali was twenty-five weeks along, and there was still plenty of time to collect supplies, but that was one item they'd not yet gotten.

Too flummoxed for propriety, Kali glanced at her former Master. "Did you...bring that?"

He nodded once. "Doesn't it look familiar?"

At first glance, it was like any of the dozens of cribs she'd seen in her life. Oval-shaped with a padded interior, held up by supports from the base, which had drawers for clothes or other necessities. Many cribs were made of synthwood, but upon closer inspection, it was clear this was not one of them. The whorls of real woodgrain were apparent, and it _felt_ like real wood: smooth and almost...old, somehow. As if the Force-essence of the tree remained.

Kali skimmed a hand along the edge; the interior's padding was soft and clean, the fabric a pale blue color that stuck in her memory. But it was not until her fingertips touched something hard that she realized exactly what Mace had brought.

"Are those Adegan crystals?"

Mace nodded again. Just once.

Kali bent so that she could see the four small crystals that had been embedded in the inner edge of the crib; they'd been polished to a smooth finish and firmly fixed, so that they could not be removed by inquiring little hands. If she concentrated, she caught their presences in the Force: soothing and mild, like a gentle lullaby.

Her throat tightened. "I've only ever seen these in the Temple creche."

"That is where this one came from." As Mace crossed the room to stand at her side, she caught the gleam of light across his cybernetic hand. His study of the crib was more critical, but, she thought, ultimately approving. He lifted a brow at her. "Obi-Wan said your child is Force-sensitive, but you did not yet have a crib. I thought this would be an," he paused, head tilting as if in thought, "appropriate gift."

 _Holy kriffing hell. Did the Sith Lord fry his brain?_ After some internal struggling, she managed to string some appropriate words together. "It's...a perfect gift, Mace. Thank you."

"The crystals resonate with the Force, and will be soothing to your child," Mace continued, gazed fixed back on the crib. "And any other Force-sensitive children you might have, in the future."

"Thank you." It seemed that was all she could say.

Mace, too, seemed at a loss for words now, for he nodded again, but said nothing further.

Rather than stand in silence, Kali cleared her throat. "It's lovely, but I'm guessing you didn't make a special trip to the Mid Rim just to drop this off."

"No." But he was still silent, until at last he took a deep breath and fixed her with that dark, piercing gaze. "All but one of my former Padawans have turned to the dark side or left the Order. Were you aware of that?"

Again, she was stunned into silence, so she shook her head. Mace looked back at the crib a moment before running a hand along the polished woodgrain of the edge. "At what point do you think the Master is to blame, rather than the apprentice?"

Force above and beyond, he sounded...almost _hurt._ "Mace, you didn't cause any of them to leave."

"I did not want to come to this conclusion," he continued as if she'd not spoken. "But I cannot look away from the pattern any longer. I am the common denominator in all of your lives." He pulled his hand away from the crib and tucked it within his robes. "The fault of your fall is mine."

"Fall? You really think I've fallen to the dark side?"

He looked at her again. "You have turned your back on your upbringing. You have cast aside all of the things I tried to teach you. As have Depa and Echuu. That is not a coincidence."

Icy cold swept through her body. It was not fear, nor dread, but something akin to both. Perhaps shock was closest. "I don't know about them," she managed after a moment. "I never knew Echuu, and I've only spoken with Master Billaba once or twice. But I promise you, I've not fallen to the dark side."

He frowned but she continued. "Yes, it's true that I've taken a different path than the one you would have chosen for me. I'm certainly not a 'traditional' Jedi any longer. But I _am_ still a Jedi. A better one than I ever could have hoped to be on my own, because of you."

That was the moment she knew she would go to Mundali. The understanding settled around her like a cloak or a warm blanket, and she relaxed.

"I was under the impression you thought me too harsh," Mace said.

Kali nodded slowly. "Yes. I did think that. And maybe you were, at times. But you also pushed me harder than anyone else, even Jonas. Honestly," it was her turn to look back at the crib, "I don't know that I would have survived these last few months without the benefit of your training. Yes, you were harsh, Mace. But you also made me strong."

Her voice broke on the last word, and it was a fight to keep back the tears, but she managed. As much as she wanted to blame them on hormones, she could not.

When she found her composure again, Mace was studying her, though his eyes had dropped to the swell of her stomach. "Obi-Wan said it was a boy."

She smiled. "Yes. We're going to name him 'Milo,' after his uncle. Would you like to say 'hello?'"

Mace hesitated, both synth and flesh hands curled beneath his robe. After a moment of hesitation, Kali reached for his flesh hand and placed it on her belly. Milo's Force-presence flickered once, curiously, then brightened when he recognized another Force-sensitive. He was always excited to meet someone new, particularly if he could communicate with them in this rudimentary way. Though he was still growing physically and mentally, it seemed a child's Force-abilities developed much sooner than the rest of him.

After a moment she drew her hand back, but Mace kept his in place, gazing at her stomach, brows knitted, until he closed his eyes. His Force-presence was like a wave lapping the shore; gentle, but with a promise of great power behind it. But it was restrained, tentative, and she thought he was attempting to not overwhelm her son.

In exchange, Milo's presence brightened further still, flickering with unrestrained joy and wonder as he sought her former Master. And Mace's awareness, too, revealed his interest...and amusement.

A new presence filtered through her awareness; Kali did not have to glance at the door to know her husband had entered the room. Rather than speak, she motioned him forward, and he came to stand by her side.

When Mace's eyes opened, he nodded to Stonewall once – of course, he'd have sensed the clone as well – and met Kali's gaze again. "He's strong in the Force," he said quietly. "Will you train him to be a Jedi?"

"We'll train him to use his abilities as much and as safely as he can," she said. "If he decides he'd like to be a Jedi, then we will set him on that path."

It probably wasn't the answer Mace had wanted, but it was the best she could give. Indeed, a faint frown crossed her old Master's face, but it smoothed away after a moment. "If that is the path he chooses, there will be a place for him at the Temple."

Kali's mouth opened but no sound came out. She was too full of things to say for any to escape. Stonewall, though, took up the slack when she could not. He put his arm around her waist and nodded to Mace. "Thank you, sir. That's very good to hear."

"Yes," she managed to choke out. "Thank you, Mace."

The Jedi Master laced his hands before him and bowed once. "I should be on my way. Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice. May the Force be with you both."

"And you," Kali said.

Mace nodded to her and Stone again, then slipped out of the nursery, his robe rippling in his wake. The moment he was out of their quarters, Stonewall looked at her. "Am I hallucinating, or did Mace Windu just deliver a crib for our son?"

Now that it was just her family, she let some tears slip free and hugged her husband close, burying her face in his thankfully non-armored chest. "No, and yes."

Stonewall embraced her readily, as he always did. By now he was used to her mood swings. "Ah, good. It's nice." His voice turned perplexed. "Are those...crystals?"

"Adegan crystals." Still sniffing, she pulled away from him and ran her fingertips along the crib's edge again, before explaining the purpose of embedding these crystals in a Force-sensitive's crib. "They're in all the cribs at the Temple creche. That's where this one came from."

"Adegan crystals," he repeated, smoothing his hand along the polished woodgrain. "Those are the same kind in your lightsabers, aren't they?"

This was dangerous ground to tread, for she did not want to get into yet another argument on the subject. Kali kept her reply as neutral as possible. "That's right."

"They feel...nice." He closed his eyes. "Soothing. Does _Mi'ka_ like them?"

"I can't really tell. I'm not sure they're strong enough for him to sense. But I think he will once he's born."

Stonewall nodded, but did not lift his hand from the crib, though his gaze was distant. At last he took a deep breath and met her eyes. "Are you hungry? I thought we could have lunch."

She smiled. "I'd like that."

He held out his arm, and they left the room together.

* * *

_Later..._

Stonewall studied the crib again. In the darkness of the night, the crystals embedded in its side glowed faintly blue, casting their light through the shadows of the nursery. He was no expert on these things, but it looked like a well-made crib. Sturdy. Solid. Strong. The design of it was simple as well, which was appealing. It reminded him a little of the Jedi Temple, though another crib entirely filled his mind's eye.

He shook away the memory of Iktotch and returned his focus to the crib before him, the one that resonated with the Force. The feeling was amplified when he placed his palm over the crystals and the wood of the crib. Stonewall could not stop touching it, even long after Kali had gone to bed. He sighed and leaned his head on his folded elbows, braced on the crib's edge, and studied the padded interior, where their son would sleep.

Soon, now. Kali's due date was only a few months away. Sometimes it felt like he'd lost all sense of time's passage, so that a month seemed to pass in the blink of an eye, yet a night stretched into eternity.

 _I should sleep_. By all accounts, sleep would be a rare luxury with a newborn around, but he couldn't bring himself to leave the nursery just yet.

Instead, he toyed with the nearest crystal, covering it with his thumb and studying how it made his skin glow blue and revealed the outline of his bones and veins. Through the Force, the crystal seemed to hum a soft song, a soothing song. It took him a moment to remember the word _lullaby._ Music could soothe, as could the Force, but he'd never known such a thing existed until recently. There were no lullabies on Kamino.

His son would know what lullabies were. His son would not know what it was like to grow up on the storm world. His son would know what it was to be loved from his earliest days.

His son would have the Force.

Stonewall's breath caught as the shape of his life crystallized around him. His son would have the Force, but he would not have to navigate the strange, wild energy on his own. His mother – _and_ his father – could help him every step of the way.

A sudden and overwhelming sense of gratitude filled Stonewall to the brim, and his eyes burned. Even before _Mi'ka_ came into the galaxy, he had a connection with his parents that so many could not claim, and Stonewall would not have to be a bystander while his son grew into the Force; he could provide guidance and reassurance.

 _This is why_ , he thought, swallowing tightly. _This is why I got the Force. It must be._ And if it wasn't, then it was the best aspect he'd discovered so far.

And he knew then what he had to do.

* * *

Kali kept the lightsabers tucked in her nightstand, within easy reach, should the need arise. Nevertheless, Stonewall was able to slip them free without waking her. He brought them to the nursery, closed the door, and took a seat on the thick rug. He placed both sabers vertically before him, resting on the floor, and studied them for a few moments before he began his task.

The hilt of Kali's saber was slender, more suited to her smaller hands, but both were of a plain duochrome that seemed to catch the light, even in the dark room. They sat before him silently, a challenge as much as an invitation. Stonewall closed his eyes, took several deep breaths, and gathered the Force.

It came to him easily now. More than it ever had. And although it was not a crashing wave of power, the flow of it was steady. He immersed himself for a few minutes, assessing his own strength and ability before turning his attention to the sabers before him. Through the lens of the Force, the crystals within each glowed brilliantly; the glow was echoed in the crib in his peripheral Force-vision.

Stonewall had never attempted this on his own, but he'd watched Kali do so many times. Using the Force, he lifted Kali's saber and gently twisted the handgrip loose; the innermost components followed until the blue crystal was freed. He paused here to once more assess his strength. He found it, and continued. Keeping the first saber and its components aloft, Stonewall repeated the process for the second saber. After the yellow crystal drifted loose, he carefully maneuvered it into Kali's saber, ensuring that it was secure before lowering the weapon to the floor.

Once her saber was finished, he turned his attention to the other. His saber.

* * *

Early the next morning, Kali awoke to the _snap-hiss_ of an ignited lightsaber. Normally, that would be a cause for alarm, but the sound was accompanied by a gentle brush of Stonewall's awareness to hers. When she opened her eyes, their bedroom was bathed in blue light.

Stone stood beside her, a lightsaber in his hand. Her father's old one...but the blade was blue. Frowning, Kali rubbed her eyes and sat up. "What's–"

He held out the second saber, the one she'd built when she was a girl. "I made some modifications," he said without preamble. "I hope it's okay."

She activated the blade, and the bright yellow glow melded with the blue. It was dark outside, but the chrono told her it was nearly dawn. She looked at her husband, who stood tall and carried the lightsaber as if he was born to it. "It's perfect."

Stonewall jerked his chin toward the door. "Come on," he said, smiling. "Let's go spar."


	71. Chapter Seventy

Lyrics: ["Stick With Me Baby," by Alison Krauss & Robert Plant, from, _Raising Sand._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AeoCGZJhGZ8&list=PLvos9XgSl6RB9mr58djd9P4eWMrjRNidp&index=71)

* * *

**Chapter Seventy**

_We'll find a way._

_Later..._

Stonewall's heart was in his throat, but he schooled himself to calm as he bowed to the Iktotchi male standing before him. "Thank you for meeting with us, sir."

Koto Taro met his gaze with eyes like stone, and was silent.

"Unk," Omree said, tugging at his uncle's sleeve. "Down. Want down, Unk!" To further emphasize his point, the Iktotchi youngling waved his tiny hand toward the massive, spiral-shaped statue that rested in the center of the Chamber, the grand temple in Ankhela.

At this, Koto looked at his nephew and touched a hand to one of the boy's tiny horn-buds. Omree pouted, but leaned his head into his uncle's neck and stuck his thumb in his mouth, content for the moment.

Koto returned his regard to Stonewall, though his eyes flickered down to Kali after a moment. "You are certain you are comfortable, Knight Halcyon?"

She sat upon one of the wooden benches along the temple's sides. By now, at nearly thirty-seven weeks into her pregnancy, she was, in her own words, "the size of a fragging moon." There was no kriffing way she was comfortable on the hard, wooden bench, but she gave Koto a solemn nod.

"Yes, thank you." She glanced at Stonewall, then gestured to the temple's interior. "This temple is beautiful."

"The Chamber is one of the oldest halls of worship among my kind." It was also the only place that Koto had agreed to meet in Iktotch's capital city. Stonewall couldn't exactly blame the male for not wanting to allow a murderer into his home. Though, there was no telling why he'd brought Omree.

Kali nodded. "And that statue...what is it made of? It looks like some sort of fossil."

Koto inclined his head. "It is no statue, but it is a fossil. It is an ammonite; a creature that lived on Iktotch well before my people. Some say it is our earliest known ancestor."

There was a resemblance. The ammonite fossil was massive, about ten meters in length and probably as many high. It looked a bit like an Iktotchi horn lying on its side, one end curled into a perfect spiral. It was a reddish color, like the mountains of Iktotch, but the passage of time had embedded it with countless inclusions of quartz and other minerals, all of which glittered in the soft candlelight of the Chamber.

Yes, it was beautiful, but Stonewall had not returned to this world for a lesson in Iktotchi history or culture. He took a deep breath; Koto registered the subtle movement and fixed him with that dark, piercing gaze again, waiting.

"You already know what I've come to tell you," Stonewall said quietly, though his voice echoed in the empty Chamber.

"I suppose I do," Koto said.

Kali cleared her throat. "I can take the little one..."

The Iktotchi male regarded her, then nodded once. "Very well." He spoke to his nephew in their native tongue as Kali – with Stonewall's assistance – got to her feet.

"Hi, Omree," she said to the youngling. "It's nice to see you again. Do you remember me?"

Omree beamed up at her. "Jedd-aye!"

"That's right," Kali said, chuckling. "Okay, why don't you show me around?"

Omree grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the massive fossil; Stonewall watched her long enough to see that she wouldn't topple over, then looked back at the Iktotchi male.

Koto's face was expressionless.

Fek, it was difficult to speak. Stonewall had thought these words over, even practiced them with Kali between breathing exercises in preparation for their son's birth, but being here now, having to _say_ these things to the male he'd wronged – in the presence of the child he'd orphaned – was so much harder than he'd imagined it would be.

But he needed to do this. He needed to claim his actions as his own. "I murdered your brother, Tibor. At the time, I was in the Grand Army of the Republic, and I believed myself to be acting under orders from a superior officer. Those orders have since been determined to be false, but I cannot undo my actions.

"Koto Taro, I killed your brother, and I have come to Iktotch to make amends." He ducked his head. "The Republic Senate has cleared me of any illegal activity, but I understand that you may not feel the same way. Therefore, I will accept whatever punishment you deem suitable."

It was a gamble. It was probably the biggest gamble he could have taken, but there was no other way. Stonewall could not change the past, but he could shape the present and thus the future. He could take responsibility for what he'd done – completely. He'd killed a fellow father and orphaned a child. As such, he could not justify sending anyone else to deliver this message on his behalf. He waited for Koto's response.

It came as a long exhale, which was the Iktotchi equivalent of a shaking head. Glancing up, Stonewall realized that Koto was not even looking at him, but at Omree and Kali as the youngling led the Jedi Knight around the ammonite fossil. Their voices carried through the empty place of worship.

"Big horn, one day," Omree said gleefully, patting his horn-buds.

Kali's chuckle echoed. "I have no doubt they will be the finest horns of any Iktotchi."

"Want be Jedd-aye," Omree added.

"Do you?" When the boy nodded, Kali looked thoughtful. "Why?"

"Glowsword!" Omree lifted his hands as if he were holding a lightsaber, and mimicked the weapon's sounds. "Swoosh! Zssooom!"

Kali laughed again, and took Omree's hand. "They are fun, aren't they? But you know, there's more to being a Jedi than glowswords."

"What more?"

"Lots of meditation," she said sagely. "Lots and lots."

They moved to the other side of the fossil, out of sight, and Koto sighed again. He looked back at Stonewall and shook his head once. "I am of two minds. If it were solely my decision, I would have you thrown in a cell for the rest of your life."

Stonewall's heart seized, but Koto continued. "However, I know my brother. Tibor would not want to take away another child's father. Vengeance was never his way. He simply wanted to make the galaxy a better place." He lifted his chin. "You may keep your life and your freedom, but do not think their weight sits lightly upon my heart."

Before Stonewall could speak, Koto straightened; he was already quite large and muscular, so the effect was heightened. "Furthermore, you are forever banned from traveling to this system again."

"That is more than fair," Stonewall said, ducking his head again. "Thank you."

"Do _not_ thank me." Koto's voice was sharp, and the echo snapped across the Chamber. Kali's awareness brushed against Stonewall's mind, but before he could reply, Koto continued, calmer. "Leave now, and never return. Do not speak to me again."

Stonewall nodded. He glanced around for Kali, finding her and Omree at the far end of the ammonite fossil. The youngling's hand was on her stomach and his eyes were wide as they fixed on her. Kali, too, looked startled, though at Stonewall's approach she blinked, breaking the gaze. One look at her husband told her what she needed to know. Stonewall stood by the Chamber's exit while Kali led Omree back to his uncle.

She tried to bow, but her huge stomach made it difficult, so she settled on a dip of her head. Koto, though, bowed at the waist, and Omree waved goodbye. Neither spoke. Within moments, Kali was at his side again, and they slipped out of the Chamber.

"Everything went...?" She did not finish the thought.

Stonewall sighed and took her hand, savoring the feel of her palm against his. "About as we expected."

She winced. "That bad?"

"Let's just say it's time to leave."

* * *

_Moments ago..._

Kali smiled at the Iktotchi youngling. "But you know, there's more to being a Jedi than glowswords."

"What more?" Omree's eyes were wide and his Force-presence fairly glittered with his eagerness to learn something new. As Master Yoda had often said: " _Truly marvelous, the mind of a child is."_

"Lots of meditation," Kali said with a wink as they continued around the ammonite. "Lots and lots."

"What med-a-tater?"

What, indeed? She considered her answer before settling on the simplest – and truest – explanation. "Being very quiet and listening very hard."

Omree pulled a face. "No fun."

"Not exactly," she said, sighing. "But necessary, sometimes."

As they went, she cast her attention back to Stonewall and Koto; the latter's Force-signature was almost impossible to read, but she could detect sharp notes of bitterness and sorrow. Stonewall's presence contained much the same feelings. She chose not to dwell on the irony.

Perhaps it was foolish to come here, especially with her due date mere weeks away, but in her heart of hearts, Kali was convinced that this was the final step for her husband to truly heal from the ordeal he'd suffered. For he had suffered, even as he'd caused others to suffer, too. But he was trying to make it right again, and she would not refuse him the chance. She did refuse, however, to let him do this alone, much to his consternation.

Also...well, she didn't think it would hurt to have a Jedi around, nor a reminder to Koto that Stonewall was also a father.

Kali and Omree stood at the side of the massive fossil, closest to the spiraling edge. It was not cordoned off, but there was a small sign at the base of the fossil with Iktotchi writing; Kali, who had no knowledge of this language, assumed it was a polite request to "not touch." So when Omree tried to pull free of her hand and slap the ammonite, she gently held him back.

Foiled, he pouted up at her. "See?"

"With your eyes," she told him. "Not your hands." The pouting continued, so she tried to lower herself into a semi-crouch and pointed toward a particularly beautiful quartz inclusion on the fossil. "Look, Omree. Do you see that sparkly bit?"

He nodded and she gently steered his shoulders so that his perspective would shift. As she did, the inclusion refracted the low light in the Chamber, creating a rainbow sheen along the inner spiral of the ammonite. "Do you see the rainbow?" she asked.

Omree giggled. "Pretty! Rain-bow." He grinned up at her, then his eyes fell on her stomach. Not that she blamed him; from his angle, that was probably all he could see. "Baby soon."

Kali pressed a hand to the lowermost curve, closest to where Milo's head was, according to the latest scans. "Very soon," she said to the youngling. "But not for a little while."

But Omree patted her stomach and peered up at her. "Soon. Baby. Want see stars now."

"Stars?" Kali shook her head. "I'm afraid you'll either have to wait for dark, or ask your Uncle Koto to take you on a ship for that."

"No." The youngling's eyes grew distant and his tiny hand on her stomach pressed closer, warm. " _Baby_ see stars."

_What the fek_? All she could do was stare at the child until the sound of footsteps broke her from the trance. Blinking, she glanced up to where Stone approached, his mouth pulled into a thin line. But he didn't look like he was about to be hauled off to an Iktotchi prison, so she thought the conversation had gone about as well as it could have.

"Come on, Omree," she said to the child. "Let's go back to your uncle."

* * *

_Later..._

Sleep was a luxury. Try as she might, Kali could just _not_ get comfortable most nights, even with a long pillow tucked between her legs. Though, really, most things were uncomfortable when one's stomach was the size of an astromech; sleep was really just another on the list.

She lay awake in the cabin of the _Sahbr'a,_ the shuttle she, Stone, and the others had first taken to Corrie months ago. By choice, she was alone. The bunk was quite small and Stonewall took up a bit of room on his own; adding a hugely pregnant woman in the mix did not help matters. Besides, it made her husband feel better to keep an eye on the autopilot. There wasn't much else he could do for her right now, anyway.

Eyes closed, breathing steady, she tried to drift into sleep. When that failed, and after thinking over her conversation with Omree yesterday, she tried meditation.

It might have worked, but for the sudden, intense pressure across her lower body. The feeling came on so quickly that she gasped into the darkness of the cabin, jolted upright and robbed of speech. It faded as quickly as it had come until she was able to breathe properly. Slowly, she placed a hand on her lower belly and tried to sense Milo. It was too soon for him to arrive; perhaps these were false contractions.

But no. Another, stronger sense of pressure bore down upon her, though this time it was followed by a sharp pain. Instinctively, Kali sucked in her breath and clenched her hands into fists. The pain increased, pushing out all other thoughts, and she squeezed her eyes shut in an effort to simply allow it to pass.

Which it did, though it felt like hours. Finally, the pressure and pain faded, and she worked to catch her breath and regain her sense of Jedi-calm, as she and Stonewall had practiced. But before she could manage, the sensations returned, stronger.

_No,_ she pleaded to the shadows. _Please, not now. Not here. Please..._

But her body seemed to shudder and the pain strengthened again; it was a wave that built up and up and up, only to come crashing down upon her. It was like someone had placed a blade upon her midsection to slice her in two. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.

"It's okay," a warm voice said. "You're okay. You're not alone. I'm here." Something strong gripped her hand, and Kali gripped back as hard as she could. The pressure offered no relief from the pain, but it gave her something else to focus on.

When the contraction faded, she opened her eyes and looked at Stonewall, crouched beside her on the bunk. "I can't do this," she whispered. "Please."

Honey-brown eyes regarded her; if there was fear within them, she did not see it. "Kali," he said gently. "It's happening now."

Her cheeks were wet, but she did not know when she'd started to cry. She shook her head. "No. It was supposed to be on Aruna. With doctors and Honi..."

The wave of pain approached, worse than the last. Kali cried out in earnest and gripped her husband's hand like a lifeline. Fek, it was bad. She'd tried to prepare herself in all ways, physically and emotionally, but this...

_Make it stop. Please make it stop._

Stop it did, albeit slowly, leaving her once more breathless and sobbing. Sweat coated her entire body and she trembled with the sheer effort of withstanding the ripping pain. "Stone..."

"I'm right here." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, half embracing her, half positioning her as they'd learned, and placed a fierce kiss against her temple. "You can do this."

"I can't," she said, shaking her head. "Not here. Not now."

"You have to."

"No..."

Stonewall took a deep breath and turned her face to his. The Force settled around him, still and strong and solid, and she sank into his energy, savoring it. Fully open to her through their bond, he pressed their foreheads together and said, clearly, "Kali, you're going to give birth to our son now."

Not until the words were given life did she accept them as truth. Even as another contraction began to grow, even as tears streamed down her face, she nodded and gripped her husband's hand. The wave of pain crested, slicing through her as if with a lightsaber, and there was nothing left for her to do but allow it to come.

It came and went, and came again. Kali lost all sense of time; each moment became only _pain_ or _less pain._ Her only respite was in what measured breathing she could manage; the wild thought struck her that this too was a form of meditation, and she wanted to laugh and cry at once. Perhaps she did. Then the pain grew again, and all thought ceased. At one point, Stonewall moved from her side and knelt before her on the bunk, though he managed to keep one hand in hers. How, she didn't know or care.

Giving birth was fire. It was a thousand vibroblades. It was being torn asunder. It was too much, and it was going to kill her.

_Let it,_ she begged in her haze. _Please, let me die._

As if in response, Milo's Force-presence seemed to swell in her mind's eye, sparkling brighter than a sun, than a thousand suns, and the threads of love that bound her to him strengthened even as her body sagged with exhaustion.

"Kali..." Another energy reached for her own, suffusing her with a strength unlike any other, and Stonewall's grip never left hers, even when she thought she would surely shatter his hand. But he remained, unyielding, and she did not know where she ended and he began.

"He's coming," Stone said. "He's almost here."

_Our son. Milo._ Tears came again, but they welled from a place other than fear and pain.

Another contraction began to build, and Kali took a deep, shuddering breath. The pressure in her lower body increased along with the feeling of being ripped in half. Dimly, between waves, Kali recognized a driving urge to _push_ , so she did. Rather, she allowed her body to do what it wanted, for _Kali_ was no longer at the helm. She was a vessel for something larger. Another contraction, stronger still, pulsed through her and she cried out again, and pushed.

After what felt like hours, the pain ebbed and her head lolled to one side as she tried to catch her breath. That was when she heard the most beautiful sound.

A baby's wail, high and fierce, cut through her haze, made her look up, where Stonewall was bent over something small, something she could not see. "Stone...?"

Stonewall's face was tear-streaked, too, but he was smiling. "Oh, Kali," he managed. "He's perfect."

* * *

He was.

The _Sahbr'a_ may not have been a medcenter, but it was well-equipped enough to clean a newborn. Stonewall was efficient, and soon Kali held her son in her arms for the first time. At first she could do no more than marvel at his newness, his pink skin and the tiny half-moons of his fingernails, perfectly formed. His Force-presence, which had been strong before, fairly blinded her now when she opened herself to the kaleidoscope of colors that formed his bright spirit. But she would not look away. She would never look away.

"I almost can't believe he's here," Stonewall murmured. He sat beside her on the bunk, one arm around her shoulders to hold her close, the other resting beneath _Mi'ka's_ hand, dwarfing it with his index finger.

"I can."

Stone hugged her closer and kissed her cheek. "You were incredible."

The memories of pain had receded in the wake of overwhelming joy, and Kali smiled. "How much did I scream?"

"As much as you needed to, I suppose." He considered, then slanted her a knowing look. "I know you didn't mean any of those things you said about me."

Kali chuckled. "I'll have to take your word for it. I don't remember much..."

Milo stirred in her arms, and her attention shifted to their son. The cabin was quiet; the engines hummed as the shuttle carried them to Aruna. Once she was certain Milo was sleeping soundly, she looked at her husband again. "Are we in hyperspace?"

"We are now. I shut off the engines when I realized what was going on, and restarted them while you were cleaning up. I comm'd Weave as well; he'll pass on the news to the others." He sighed into her hair. "It happened so quickly."

"Quickly?" Kali fought back a shudder. "From where I was sitting, it took kriffing _forever_."

He winced. "I barely had time to comm Honi. She didn't answer, and I can't remember what I said in my message. Kriff, I was practically drunk with panic."

Kali could not summon another emotion other than faint amusement; she was wrung dry, and what energy she did have was reserved for her son. "But you were so calm," she said, looking up at her husband. "I remember that. How in the blazes did you manage it?"

Even his frown, in this moment, held wonder. "You were screaming and crying, but there was nothing I could do for you but be here. You were in pain and I was helpless. Then..." He trailed off and looked back at their son. "I felt...him. It was like he knew how frightened I was, somehow, and...helped." Stonewall sighed again. "It sounds barvy."

"Completely barvy." Kali examined her son's face; the delicate curve of his nose, the chubby roundness to his cheeks, the dusting of dark hair. "But I know what you mean. I felt the same thing."

"Did you?"

She nodded. "I think he wanted to help us. Maybe you were right." She inhaled her son's sweet, new-baby scent. "Maybe he will be a Jedi."

In response, Milo made a burbling baby sound and turned his face closer to Kali's chest. His Force-presence glowed with contentment and joy, and Kali smoothed the back of her finger over his soft cheek. Milo stirred again before two brilliant blue eyes opened, and her breath caught at the familiar color.

Many newborns had blue eyes, but this color was one she'd not seen in person in over two decades. Blue eyes. Her father's eyes.

Stonewall leaned over her to kiss their son's forehead. "Good job, _Mi'ka._ "

Kali was too full of emotion to speak. Love and gratitude filled her to the breaking point, and she was content to shatter.

_The End_

* * *

A/N: I have never given birth, so my research for this chapter had me squirming in my chair. The things I do for y'all! ;)

I started writing _Fearless_ in February of 2014, after being bombarded by a series of relentless "what if" plot bunnies. I typed "the end" in January of 2015. Now it's 2016. Time flies, eh?

If you like my writing, please check my profile for important news about my future projects.

Eternal gratitude goes to **impoeia**. This story is richer for her encouragement and support – and endless reservoir of patience, particularly when deleting so many unnecessary hyphens.

Many, many thanks to the ladies in my writing group, who happily answered all of my inane, random questions with grace, efficiency, and naughty puns. (The best kind of puns!)

And you, the person reading this. Thank you, a thousand times over, for coming on this journey with me. I sincerely hope you enjoyed yourself. :)

If I may, I'd like to leave you with one final thought. This quote by George Addair inspired me while writing this story – and throughout the course of Real Life:

"Everything you've ever wanted is on the other side of fear."


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